#Interesting Facts About Netherlands

[vogelmeister]

decided to reread merel’s monologue in wings of love and i noticed the best unintentional parallel

[meazalykov]

nationality switch

esmee brugts x uswnt!dutch!reader

summary: choosing a national team almost made you drift away from the person you love most

warnings: angst

it’s been a long time since you’ve seen esmee, since that fight—since everything changed. 

you’re sitting in the corner of a cozy café in barcelona, sipping your iced coffee, lost in your thoughts about how things used to be. the only noise around you is the coffee machines brewing or the ovens beeping in the background of your thoughts.

you never expected to see her today. you thought she moved to arsenal in london. a club that she mentioned her interest in. but then again, nothing with esmee ever goes as planned.

the bell above the café door chimes, and you look over at the door on instinct. when you see her, your stomach flips. is that her? you had to do a double take.

it is esmee. her eyes lock on yours instantly, and for a second, it’s like no time has passed. the familiarity, the memories, all come rushing back. you miss her, but the weight of your last conversation—the fight—hangs heavily between you both.

you don’t move. you don’t know if you should, and maybe she doesn’t either, because she hesitates before walking over. you freeze before you see her stop at the counter.

you took a deep breath before she gets her flat white and walks over.

when she finally reaches your table, you see that same spark in her eyes, but there’s something else now. something different.

“hey,” she says, her voice soft, almost tentative, as if she’s afraid of how you’ll respond.

you raise an eyebrow, trying to keep things light. 

“esmee, how did you even find me?”

she offers a small smile, a little suspicious. 

“we never turned off each other’s locations on our phones.”

that breaks the tension for a moment, and you can’t help but laugh. 

it’s such a typical esmee thing to say. well for you, as someone who is the closest to her. she never fails to make a heavy moment become lighter. you shake your head at the absurdity of it all. 

“of course.”

she sits down across from you at the wooden table, and suddenly, the reality of everything hits. you’re both here in barcelona. after all this time, all the distance, somehow, fate—or maybe something else—has pulled you back together. 

it feels like you’re supposed to be here, like you were always meant to end up on the same team again. it hasn't been too long since you were both at psv. your contracts ended at the same time and you had a bad feeling that it would've been your last time together.

it wasn't.

“so…” esmee starts, her fingers fiddling with the edge of the napkin in front of her. “i heard the news.”

you nod slowly. “yeah. barca. i guess it was inevitable, huh?”

“inevitable,” she echoes, her gaze dropping to the table before lifting back to meet yours. 

“we were always supposed to end up here together, it was our dream.”

the silence stretches between you both, and it’s not uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. there’s so much unsaid, and you know it. she knows it. 

the past months have been complicated. after the women’s world cup, after that game against the netherlands where you scored that header, after you told her that you weren't going to represent the netherlands on the senior level, things between you two were…different.

“you were mad,” you say softly, cutting through the silence.

her eyes darken slightly, and she nods, not bothering to deny it. “yeah, i was.”

“because I celebrated my goal?”

“because it felt like you were celebrating more than just a goal,” she admits. 

“it felt like you were celebrating the fact that you chose them over us. over me.”

throwback to july 26th, 2023

it’s the 62nd minute, and the game between the u.s and the netherlands is 0-1. the tension is suffocating—this isn’t just any group stage match. 

it’s a battle between two teams who were in the finals of the last world cup. the netherlands want revenge.

for you, it’s personal. you are dutch and american. your mother was born and raised in eindhoven, while your dad is an american who studied there then met your mother.

while growing up, you considered yourself to be dutch. you never lived in the united states. however, you've wondered what it was like to live over there.

at the age of 8 you met your bestfriend, esmee, at a soccer club. the both of you grew up, joined psv together, and played for the dutch youth teams together.

when your father expressed how he wanted you to chose the uswnt when you reached the senior level, you didn't count him out. the team was the best in the world.

the 2019 world cup solidified your decision to represent your father's side of the family. however, sometimes you think about the other world where you chose the dutch team instead of the americans.

you jog back to your position for a corner kick being taken by rose lavelle, feeling the weight of the moment settle on your shoulders. 

your heart pounds in your chest, and as you glance toward the dutch goal, your eyes flicker briefly to the orange clad figure on the left. esmee. 

she’s looks at you briefly, her expression unreadable. for a split second, it’s like time slows down. you remember the late nights practicing at psv, the laughter, the way she used to tell you that you’d both dominate the world together one day.

now, you’re on opposing sides, thanks to you choosing your other nationality.

the whistle blows. you snap back to the present, focusing on the corner being taken. 

the ball soars through the air, heading toward the front post. you leap, eyes locked on the ball, and your timing is perfect. you rise above the defenders, connecting with the ball in a powerful header that rockets past the dutch goalkeeper.

goal!

for a moment, the world stops. then the noise of the crowd hits you like a wave, and you’re running, arms outstretched in celebration. your teammates swarm around you, shouting, grabbing your jersey, jumping on your back. 

you can hear julie yelling for you and lindsey clapping you on the back with a proud grin. it’s chaos—pure joy, adrenaline, and pride.

but as you slow down, turning back toward midfield, your eyes find esmee again. 

she’s standing there, watching, her expression unreadable at first. in the moment that you look away before turning back, you see it: the hurt. the disbelief. you know it’s not just about the goal. it’s about everything else.

you swallow the lump forming in your throat and try to focus on your teammates still celebrating around you, but esmee’s look is burned into your mind. 

she goes back on the left-back then stands, her hands clenched into fists by her sides, it looks as if she’s frozen. you see her teammates—players you grew up with on youth teams—pat her on the back, but it’s clear she’s not hearing them.

it’s the celebration that did it. you know it. the way you threw your fists in the air, the way you smiled at your teammates like this goal was everything. 

to esmee, it wasn’t just a goal against the netherlands. it was a statement, a reminder that you chose the united states over the netherlands, over her.

as the game resumes, you push the thought to the back of your mind. you have to stay focused. there’s still time left, and the dutch team isn’t going to back down easily. but every time you glance in esmee’s direction, it stings. 

you see the frustration in her movements, the way she presses forward with even more intensity than before. she’s angry—at you, at the situation—and it shows.

the game ends and its tied. the rest of her team is exhausted, but she doesn’t even wait for the usual post-match handshakes and shirt swaps. she walks straight down the tunnel, disappearing from view, and a pit forms in your stomach.

you want to go after her, explain that the celebration wasn’t meant to hurt her. but deep down, you know this moment has been building for a long time. 

the decision to play for the united states on the senior level, the arguments, the silence between you two—it’s all led to this. 

in the locker room, your teammates are quiet, they’re focused on the next match. 

your thoughts are stuck on esmee. you stare down at your phone, wondering if you should text her, try to explain. but what could you say? what could make this better?

back to the barcelona cafe, a month later

you blink, taken aback by the raw honesty in her words. 

you’ve had months to think about it—about what it meant when you chose to play for the uswnt, about how your dad had always pushed you to follow in his footsteps. but you didn’t think esmee would take it this personally.

“esmee, it wasn’t about that,” you say, voice soft, almost pleading.

“you know it wasn’t like that.”

it was your first goal for the national team. it happened to be against your other country, the other country that wanted you to play for them too. 

your mother is dutch, and your father is american– so you had a tough decision to make.

esmee shakes her head, and for a moment, you think she’s going to argue. but then she sighs, leaning back in her chair. 

“i know. but it hurt. i wanted you to play with me and for the oranje. i wanted us to play together, like we always did in eindhoven. and then, when you celebrated after that goal…it felt like you’d forgotten everything we’d had.”

“i didn’t forget. i could never forget,” you say, and it’s the truth. you haven’t forgotten a single moment. 

“but esmee, you know how much my dad wanted this for me.” 

“i know,” she whispers, and there’s pain in her voice. 

“but i wanted you to want the same things i did. i wanted you to choose me.”

her words hit you hard, and for a second, you can’t respond. this is about more than just football, more than just a decision you had to make when choosing a national team. 

it’s about the two of you—about what you’ve meant to each other all these years.

“esmee,” you start, leaning forward, trying to make her understand. “it wasn’t about choosing them over you. you mean everything to me. i-i didn’t even realize—”

“that’s the thing,” she interrupts, her voice trembling slightly. 

“i was upset because i always want to be around you. it was selfish, maybe, but it’s the truth. i thought…i thought i was going to lose you when you chose them. what if you didn’t choose to come to barcelona? what if i didn’t? we wouldn’t see each other anymore..”

you frown, confused. “esmee, you’re never going to lose me. what are you talking about?”

she bites her lip, her eyes searching yours, and suddenly, it’s like all the walls she’s built up come crashing down. her hands stop gripping on her coffe cup and goes to gently hold your right hand instead. 

you froze.

“i’m talking about how i feel about you,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. 

you feel your heart skip a beat, and for some reason, her confession doesn’t surprise you. 

it’s like you always knew, like a part of you had been waiting for her to say it out loud. she’s been your best friend for years, but deep down, maybe you always knew there was something more.

the left-back never made her crush on you a hidden secret. she was never outright, but her actions towards you spoke for itself. 

“es…” you start, but you don’t know what to say. so instead, you reach across the table, gently taking your other hand and holding hers.

she looks at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable, like she’s terrified of what you’ll say next.

“i like you too,” you say softly, your thumb brushing over the back of her hand. 

“i think i always have.”

her eyes widen even more, but there’s a soft smile playing on her lips now. 

“really?”

you nod, giving her a small smile in return. “yeah. really.”

you stand up slowly, moving around the table, and she doesn’t pull away when you lean down and press a soft kiss to her forehead. 

it feels right and natural, like something you should’ve done a long time ago. you wanted to, but you didn't know how she felt about you then.

nobody was present in the cafe instead of the barista who was too focused on making drinks, so you didn’t feel embarrassed to kiss her.

when you pull back, esmee smiling up at you, and for the first time in months, you feel like things between you two might finally be okay.

“so…barcelona, huh?” you say, trying to lighten the mood.

esmee laughs, that familiar sound you’ve missed so much. “yeah. looks like we’re stuck together again.”

you grin, squeezing her hand gently. “good. i wouldn’t want it any other way.”

my masterlist is here if you want to read more!

[mylifestylearedilfs]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ joost klein x friend (with benefits)!reader ࿐ྂ

ੈ✩‧₊˚ LUNCH : not smut ; a bit of angst (but not really) ; fluff ; imagine ; all is fictional ; english is not my first language

part two

, , ,

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ YOU WERE FRIENDS with joost for few good years, you two met at the set of his song ‘ome robert’, since then you became inseparable. you never thought that this acquaintance would last for that long and you also never had in plans to care that much for this crazy little dutch guy. sometimes other people was saying that you two were clones, who shared the same sense of humour and even the same clothes from time to time. long story short you were acting like an old sweet couple.

you have always founded each other attractive, at first it caused some awkwardness, even if you both tried to ignored by typical for you jokes. but after one party, when you both were a bit of drunk, but still capable of thinking rationally, you finally decided to do something with that sexual tension that was between you. that was the moment when he proposed you to start kind of friends with benefits type of relationship.

, , ,

right now we are in the present times, when joost was chosen to represent the netherlands. you were extremely proud of him, you knew the whole story, about how he watched eurovision because of his parents. that’s why you also wanted to make this whole event special and memorable for him, and with help of apson and martijn by your side it was super easy to achieve.

you always thought that the whole contest wasn’t that exciting, because people who worked as their social media management wasn’t that creative. that’s why all of you wanted to make it a bit more interesting, because let’s be honest, all the contestants were great people and they had such a potential to advertise eurovision with their personalities not only with their songs.

it was you who recorded all iconic joost’s clips, sometimes you even were taking part in some videos, as a ‘interviewer’ for example. it was a lot of fun for not only you, but everyone; by other contestants and of course by viewers. people quickly became interested in your persona, because you have never been active on social media, that’s why when you finally started getting more attention online, joost’s fans were simply curious who you were and what kind of relationship you had with dutch man.

it was a moment when you started to ask yourself, who you really were to joost. of course you were aware that you both cared for each other, but officially it was in friendly way. on the other hand let’s be honest, in privacy you didn’t acted like friends more like a lovers. but the truth was that you were tired of being just friends (with benefits but still friends). you wanted to be officially couple and the fact, that his career was developing in unbelievable fast way, wasn’t helping.

you understood that having casual relationship was convenient for him, because he didn’t have to worry about how busy he sometimes was. but you started to feel that sex that you shared, wasn’t that sweet and special, it was kind of opposite you felt that he only treated it like a stress reducer, which hurt your feelings. you weren’t selfish though, that’s why you kept it all for yourself, because right now it was about joost and eurovision, there wasn’t room for unwanted drama.

but maybe someday he will find out that you didn’t want to be just friends anymore.

, , ,

⇢ ˗ˏˋ thank you for attention! do you guys want a part two?

[corvidae-00]

if your comfortable writing this, can i request joost with a reader who sh? he accidentally finds out by their sleeve accidentally sliding down or something (im on the brink of relapsing and i need angst with comfort 😭😭 not forcing tho lol, if ur uncomfortable writing this don't force yourself!!!)

A/n: I’m totally okay doing this! As someone who has fought this battle I totally get it and I hope you are okay Anon!! You have people who love you and you are so special in your own ways! Beautiful inside and out 🫶 I hope this helps and know you are never alone!! My DMs are always open honey

CW: SH, angst, sensitive topics, Joost being a sweetheart,

YOU ARE LOVED!! be safe everyone!

988 (suicide prevention)

It had been a pretty hot day in the Netherlands and your boyfriend Joost was set on taking you on a hike! Which would have been totally okay if you hadn’t just gone through a relapse… you don’t even know why it happened or what set you off, you cleaned them pretty well but they were still tender and you knew you couldn’t convince Joost to cancel the hike that he was so dead set on.

“Long sleeves, eh?” He blinks at you in suprise his owlish expression kinda funny “yeah! It’s a cute shirt!” You blow him off waving your hand dismissively and your boyfriend nods with a shrug “it is cute you got me there” he pinches your cheek before leaning down and giving you a big ol kiss on the cheek before peppering your face with them. The sunshine that your boyfriend is always makes you feel so free and warm. “Let’s go!! I want to get there before it gets packed!” He chirps taking your hand and pulling you out to the car after making sure you had enough water and packed the sun screen

After hiking for a few hours you and Joost found the most beautiful ledge looking over a beautiful river covered with pine trees and mountains as far as the eyes can see. “Wow” you mutter wiping your brow and fanning the neck of your shirt “that’s breathtaking” you mutter and Joost chuckles looking over at you “it is isn’t it? But the view infront of me is even better” he purrs and you look over at him blushing madly “don’t even with me” you laugh covering your face with your hands leading to Joost wrapping his arms around you in a big hug “let’s take a selfie!” He says tugging his phone out of his pocket “say cheese schat!” He puts the phone out in front of you two

As the sun gets closer and closer to setting the more you forget about your arms to busy listening to Joost tell you about random things he knows about the wilderness or just random facts he finds interesting. Without thinking you tug your sleeves up to your elbows to help the air circulate through your clothes and cool you off. Joost looks back at you mid laugh at a dumb thing he had brought to your attention about ducks “and then I learned that buffalo!-“ he stops taking a quick glance down at your revealed arms and pauses- and then you watch his face go through a few different emotions- landing on devastation “schat…” he mutters stepping towards you like you might run. Realizing your fatal mistake you can sense the color draining from your features

“Joost I-“ you try to come up with excuses or reasons but you come up empty “I’m-“ you stop feeling your boyfriend slowly pull you into his chest and wrap his arms delicately around you “why would you feel the need to hurt…” he questions searching for the words through his broken English “I don’t know…” you respond honestly not trying to move your arms or run away- just leaning into Joost like a life line “I’m so sorry-“ you start but joost shushes you softly shaking his head “don’t be sorry, you aren’t in trouble and you have nothing to be sorry for” joost says pulling away and gently bringing your arms up to his face kissing around the sounds careful not to irritate them or cause you pain “come to me next time my love” Joost mutters gently looking up at you “please allow me to help you” he pleads and you nod starting to tear up “okay..” you whisper and Joost straightens up and kisses you passionately “I love you with everything I am. I love you for any amount of time your head can come up with and more.” He confesses “and even more than that” he runs his fingers through your hair “I love you” he wipes away your tears and holds you close

When you two got home Joost had pulled you into bed and kissed you more times than you could count praising you and rubbing your back “you are beautiful. So beautiful” joost says softly between the two of you “beautiful”

A/N I hope you all know how loved you ALL are!!! I may not know everyone but I love everyone and no matter how hard your battle is never give up! You are all so strong!

Sorry if this seemed rushed or wasn’t that good…I’m on my phone and at work 😂 but I saw this request and knew I needed to get it out!!

I love you all!!!!!!

[clarkmied]

SMALL BUT FEISTY - caitlin clark x reader

It’s my first time writing again after a couple years of a hiatus, but i’m back in my caitlin clark obsession (i never left it 🤫), but bare with me cause it might be a little rocky writing. If there’s any spelling errors that make the story confusing let me know !

──────────────────────

Your relationship with Caitlin had started back when you were in Dowling Catholic with each other. You had been the new kid from Michigan, and Caitlin had taken a interest from you since the first day of your guy’s Sophomore year.

Caitlin had figured out very quickly that despite your height that you were quite feisty. Instead of being on the basketball team, you had played for Dowling’s soccer team as a CAM. Often you could be seen either arguing with the ref’s about another player not being carded for a foul, or a yellow card you had received.

Other times it was a player from another team, there was one time that the argument had turned physical leading to you being sent off the field with a red. The point being you had a problem with running your mouth (even though it was mostly justified).

Even though you had problems with arguing, your skills had managed to earn you a spot in the USWNT national camps before the 2019 World Cup, Jill had been very impressed with you and how you played that she had put you on the World cup roster. Managing to open the scoring for the United States during the group stage, with also managing to score the final goal against the Netherlands.

When you had won the World Cup, your initial thought wasn’t falling down on the ground in proud tears or celebrating with your team. You had B lined right toward the friends and family section where Caitlin, her family, and some of your family sat. Like a complete maniac you had jumped over a couple of barriers, before pulling yourself into the stands to kiss Caitlin in front of the world.

From then on your name had blown up all over social media platforms, and deals from all sorts of sponsors had flooded in. The picture of you on your tip toes in a passionate kiss with Caitlin had broken the internet for months (it was also in a small frame that you would end up taking with you to college.)

When decision day rolled around you had a few choices, University of Iowa (where you could be with Caitlin), University of Michigan, UCLA, Stanford, UW Madison, Purdue, or Rutgers. Obviously after seeing Caitlin’s choice, you had committed to Iowa.

So that’s how you found yourself in today’s situation. Facing off with UW Madison, a day that you hadn’t been looking forward too. With the Badgers knowing exactly how to get you to lose your cool, and the fact that not only was Caitlin in the stands but Monika and Kate were too.

“She does not look happy..” Monika mumbled, as she watched you get off the ground for what seemed like the hundredth time today.

“It’s not even halftime and she’s been on the ground more times than she’s had the ball.” Kate added, as she glanced over at your girlfriend.

Caitlin had been getting fed up herself with the Wisconsin players, every time she saw you go down she noted that it was starting to take a little longer for you to get back up again. Her hands running through her hair, as she watched you trying to keep your cool.

“They know how dangerous she is when the ball is at her feet, but I don’t know how much longer she can take this.” Caitlin told them, worry slipping into her voice. She knew when it came to Wisconsin that a potential red card could be coming your way, and no matter how hot you looked when mad, she worried about how far people would push you to your snapping point.

“Only a few more minutes before half time, Cait. After that it’ll be a home stretch.” Kate tried reassuring, as she reached over Monika to give Caitlin’s a reassuring squeeze to her hand.

“Hey Y/L/N !” Liv Curry yelled to you, as she came towards you. “I thought you were supposed to be some next big thing, but I guess your just another washout.” She told you, knowing exactly how you could doubt yourself.

“Why don’t you kiss my ass, Curry.” You growled, as you pushed her away from you. “Oh you got to be fucking kidding me..” You mumbled, as you saw the ref come towards you and holding a yellow above his head. “Yeah, I see. You keep booking us but not them.. sell out.” You mumbled bitterly.

“What was that?” The ref asked, as he turned back towards you with a slight glare.

“Nothing.” You told him through gritted teeth.

“This isn’t going to end well..” Caitlin sighed, as she watched your team and the Wisconsin team walk back to the locker rooms for halftime.

“What’s their problem with our superstar anyways?” Monika asked, as she turned her head towards Caitlin.

“Jealously for some, others just go at her because once my girlfriend gets the ball at her feet she’ll send it into the back of their net.” Caitlin replied, as she turned her head to look at her friends. She was so happy that her best friends treated you so well, and that they saw you as their own as well.

“I wouldn’t be surprised that the Wisconsin coach put a little money into the ref’s pocket for the lack of fouls and cards called.” Kate sighed, as she glared at the ref’s talking in the middle of the field. If she could she would’ve stormed down there to give them a piece of her mind.

“It’s not going to take much more of them pushing her before she gets herself sent off.” Caitlin told them, as she played with the chain around her neck.

“Caitlin!” You called, as you were jumping up to catch her attention. And when you did, you waved her to come down to talk to you for a few moments. Once she was looking down at you at the barrier, you jumped up to pull yourself up so you could be somewhat eye level.

“Shouldn’t you be in your locker room?” Caitlin questioned, as she tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Coach D let me come talk to you for a few minutes, said that if it helped me that it would be worth me missing out of some of the locker time.” You admitted, a slight bitterness filled you as you thought about the Wisconsin team.

“Speaking of helping.” Caitlin raised a brow slightly, before pulling you up over the barrier so you were in the stands with her. “What can I do to help ease that frustration?” She asked sincerely, as she held one of your hands while rubbing small circles over your knuckles.

“Help me murder them after the game?” You asked, mostly joking.

“I can’t believe i’m saying this, but don’t focus on the bogus stuff. Just worry about putting that ball in the back of the net.” Caitlin told you, ignoring the way your eyes gave away that you were somewhat serious about murdering the Wisconsin girls.

“Who are you and what have you done to my girlfriend?” You mumbled, before leaning your forehead into her chest.

Caitlin chuckled softly, wrapping a arm around your waist while the other rubbed your back slightly. “I’m proud of you.” She whispered, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“I love you.” You mumbled, feeling somewhat better with the comfort Caitlin brought you. But you knew once the game was done and you were back in Caitlin’s arms that everything would be okay again.

“I love you too, baby.” Caitlin told you sincerely, as she pried you from her chest so you would look at her. “So so much. I love you more than you know.” She admitted, before moving to lean in to kiss you before being interrupted by one of your teammates.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Samantha told you both, before giving a kind smile. “But, it’s time for the line up again.” She told you, before jumping down and walking back to the tunnel.

“That’s my cue.” You mumbled, before leaning up to press a kiss to Caitlin’s cheek. “Kate. Monika.” You gave them a small smile, before jumping down from the stands and moved towards the line up.

Everything had gotten messier in the second half. More tackles were made not only against you but now the rest of the midfield were receiving the most of the ground. The refs had called a few fouls against Wisconsin this time, but they mainly called it against your team.

Your blood was basically boiling, just waiting for the right thing for the kettle to set off. The anger had only pushed you into scoring a hat trick, leading the team into a lead of one point.

It’s when the 85th minute hit is when you had snapped. Curry had made a comment about how you didn’t deserve Caitlin and then proceeded to almost take your ankle out in a bad tackle.

“What the fuck, Curry!?” You yelled, as you got up on your feet. “You could’ve almost ended my season!” You growled, as you came up to her.

“You should’ve been watching yourself.” Liv told you with a small smirk on her lips. “But then again Y/N you don’t really matter in this world.”

One minute you had been listening to Liv’s words, the next you found yourself punching her straight in the nose. Liv had taken a few steps back, before punching you straight in face. The two of you had basically charged each other, taking each other to the ground throwing punches at the other. The Wisconsin girls had been quick to try and come to Liv’s aid, but hell even some of them got into it with your team.

It was about another five minutes of both teams trying to break up the fight, when Samantha had managed to pull you off of Liv and away from the Wisconsin players. Once the Badgers had seen that the main source of danger had been taken away the fighting had died down.

The main ref had showed a red card to Liv, and then turned to you before holding up a immediately red to eject from the game. Along with holding yellows to a few members of both teams.

Kate and Monika basically had to hold Caitlin back from getting onto the field to run to you during the fight, both of them surprisingly struggling to stop your girlfriend. Once you had been taken off the field and to medical, they had let her go so that she could go find you.

After a good ten minutes of searching she had found you sitting on one the physio’s tables with a ice pack to your lip and nose that was clearly broken.

She moved to stand in between your legs, so that she could look you over herself. A hand brushing the messy pieces of hair out of your face.

“You scared me back there.” She admitted, as she placed a hand against your cheek gently. “Watching you get hit by Liv and those other players really scared me, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry..” You mumbled, as you looked down at the floor.

“I know, sweetheart.” She reassured, before putting her hand under your chin to make you look at her. “But, I know that it wasn’t your fault. I still love you, Y/N. Nothing will ever change that, Okay?” Caitlin raised a brow slightly, keeping her hand under your chin.

You nodded your head, as you kept your eyes on hers. Your face contorted slightly as a small wave of pain hit you.

“What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?” Caitlin asked worriedly, as she retracted her hand.

You shook your head slightly, before moving the ice pack away from your face. “I have a minor concussion.” You admitted, before leaning your head against her chest.

“What am I going to do with you?” Caitlin chuckled softly, as one of her arms wrapped around you while the other held the ice pack to your face.

“Take me home and cuddle with me?” You mumbled, a slight pout on your lips as you pulled away to look at her.

“Whatever you want, babe.” Caitlin chuckled softly, before kissing your lips. She pulled away from you, before turning so her back was towards you. “Hop on, Princess.”

“Yes ma’am.” You said teasingly, as you got onto her back.

“Ready?” She asked you, as she held onto your legs.

“Ready.” You nodded, before ducking your head as Caitlin carried you out of the physio room and out of the stadium.

“Look who it is!” Monika laughed softly, as they watched Caitlin carry you out.

“Damn Y/N, they got you good.” Kate told you, as she stood in front of you and Caitlin.

“You should see the other girl.” You grinned at her, despite your busted lip.

“We put your bags in the car.” Monika told you, before pointing towards Caitlin’s car. “Samantha brought it to us while Caitlin went to go get you.”

“Thanks guys.” You nodded, a small smile on your lips.

“I gotta get this one home, concussion and all.” Caitlin laughed softly, before beginning to walk towards the car with you still on her back.

“We’ll see you guys later!” The two called out, before walking to their own cars to leave.

Once both of you were settled in the car, Caitlin had started the journey back to your shared place. The car ride had been pretty much silent, seeing as you had fallen asleep pretty quickly in the passenger seat exhausted from the match and the fight. When the car was parked in the parking lot, Caitlin had left yours bags in the car and carried you inside bridal style.

You groaned lightly as you felt yourself being placed in bed, your eyes slowly fluttering open. “Baby?” You mumbled, as you reached out towards her.

“It’s okay.” She reassured, as she came back into view with some clothes in her hands. “Let’s get you into something more comfortable, yeah?” Her tone was more of her telling you than asking, and you had zero energy to argue with her.

You slowly lifted yourself up and with her help you had been able to change into one of Caitlin’s shirts and a pair of shorts.

“I’ll be right back, baby. I’m gonna go change into something more comfortable.” She pressed a kiss to her your forehead gently, before walking away to get changed.

You were about to whine that she was taking to long, but then you felt a dip in the bed and Caitlin wrapping arm around you so she could pull you into her. One of your hands moved to interlock with her hand that was wrapped around you.

“You’ll take care of me right?” You mumbled sleepily, as you glanced over your shoulder at her.

“Of course I will, whatever you need i’ll get it for you.” Caitlin told you honestly, as she rubbed your back with her free hand.

“Just hold me for right now?” You asked, as you felt your eyes fighting to stay open.

“Whatever you want, baby.” She told you, before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Get some sleep, baby, i’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

“I love you.” You mumbled softly.

“I love you too.” She told you, watching as you fell asleep in her arms.

Caitlin had done what she had said. She was there for you every moment, when you were startled awake before rushing to the bathroom, Caitlin had sat with you holding your hair as she rubbed soothing circles on your back. When you asked for something to eat, she had left to go make you something that you could keep down. She made sure to wake you up at the intervals, before making small talk to keep you up before letting you fall asleep again. Despite getting little sleep herself, she didn’t mind it at all. You were her everything, and she would always take care of you.

[jokeroutsubs]

ENG translation: "We are advocates of the fact that it is possible to create in our language"

An interview with Bojan Cvjetićanin and Kris Guštin in Slovenian magazine Reporter Magazin, originally published December 2023

Original article written by Katarina Keček for Reporter Magazin; photos by Primož Lavre and Urša Premik; English translation by @kurooscoffee and another Joker Out Subs member, proofread by IG GBoleyn123.

Also available in audio version on Spotify, read by IG GBoleyn123:

If you repost quotes from the interview, please link back to this post!

After a fantastic recent concert season with the currently most popular Slovenian music group Joker Out, who have already broken all boundaries at home, the boys are now ready to conquer the world's music stages. European first, said the band's two members, guitarist Kris Guštin and singer Bojan Cvjetićanin, modestly, when we met in their rehearsal room, "Then we'll think ahead." A few days after our conversation, Joker Out embarked on a new tour, which will include 13 European countries, including France, Belgium and Italy. Among others, they will be playing at some of the world's most iconic venues, such as the O2 Shepherd's Bush Empire in London and the Academy 2 in Manchester. A musical success that has no comparison here.

I'm sure you have given hundreds of interviews over the years? How do you cope with them?

Kris: If the questions are good, the interview is also good.

Bojan: During Eurovision we had about 40 interviews a day. Let's say two of them were a little different in terms of questions.

What kind of questions don't you like?

Both: Where did our name come from? When was the band formed? The kind of thing that everybody can find on Google.

Eurovision was a big breakthrough for you abroad, but you also said that you would not do a competition like that again.

Kris: We didn't say that.

Bojan: We have another one in January. We're playing at a festival in the Netherlands, it's a kind of show where you present yourself. It's a competition in a sense, but it's not very specific like Eurovision.

But these music competitions can't be real competitions. They are about the taste of the listener, just as art is about the taste of the observer. How are you going to evaluate a quality, a song?

Bojan: Eurovision is a really interesting experience and has a very specific concept. It's a three-minute spectacle contest, there are tangible standards, but on the other hand there are not. This spectacle may be different from what any of us would think of as "spectacle", let's say a lot of fire, explosions, and fireworks, but if the story is properly told in the flood of all these fires and explosions, just one deep silence can make the performance spectacular. For us, the competition was more about whether or not we would make that breakthrough. A contest against ourselves.

When you were at Eurovision, did you have in mind the country you were representing, or did you, first and foremost, see yourself in this contest? As an opportunity for the group to present itself?

Bojan: It was absolutely important for us to sing in Slovenian at this festival because we are advocates and representatives of the fact that it is possible to create in our language and that it is right to create in our language. It's right to speak it and it's right for the language to develop. The younger generations of Slovenians are also gaining an appreciation for the Slovenian language and an understanding of what it can be used for. The aim was to show ourselves. In the end, it is true that a country wins, let's say Sweden won, or Finland won, but the most important thing for us was that when someone says, "Do you remember Slovenia in 2023?" that it will be a positive image and a positive memory. We managed to do that, which is a big enough victory as far as we are concerned. At the same time, we did everything we could to represent ourselves and Slovenia in the best possible way.

Despite all this, we welcomed you home with great joy, we did not blame you for your result in the competition, because we saw that you gave your all.

Bojan: I was honestly happy to see the positive reaction, even though objectively speaking we had a pretty poor placement.

Kris: After a long time, us Eurovision performers also had the same kind of support of the nation at home that our athletes have.

It's interesting that you hold on to the Slovenian language so lovingly and don't give in to the prejudices that claim that Slovenian is not a poetic and melodic language. You write songs in various languages, but mostly in Slovenian.

Bojan: For me, it is most natural to write songs in Slovenian. My thought process, during my subconscious existence, is in the Slovenian language.

Your parents are not of Slovenian nationality, they both came from Bosnia during the war in 1991, with the last Unprofor convoy. Kris's mother is also Dutch, and you both love the Slovenian language.

Kris: My mother moved to Slovenia before Slovenia joined the EU and, as she explained to me, it was very difficult for her at that time too. All the bureaucratic stuff dragged on, just like it would for someone who came from Bosnia.

Bojan: I never had any problems with my parents being from Bosnia. I was at a school where there were quite a lot of children who had parents from the former Yugoslavia and we had no problems with that. I coped with the Slovenian language quite well from a very young age. However, this does not change the fact that the living conditions of many children at our school were of a lower standard. I don't know what was going on in their homes, because I know that for many it was not so rosy at home, but we children did not feel any revolt or hatred from our classmates at that time.

Your parents are both doctors, and they have made a new home in Slovenia. Do you still go to Bosnia?

Bojan: Yes, more and more often. I feel very Slovenian, I think and speak in this language, but on the other hand I am immensely proud of my roots and I also feel Bosnian, Serbian, at my core, and it seems to me that the fans from the former Yugoslav countries have now taken us very much as their own because of that.

You had very successful concerts in Zagreb and Belgrade. Interestingly, the visitors knew all your songs by heart, and what's more, they sang them with you in Slovenian. We haven't been used to that since the days of Lačni Franz* and Videoseks.*

*(The only two groups prior to Joker Out who succeeded in ex-Yugoslavia region enough to have the audience sing their songs in Slovenian)

Kris: Isn't it interesting that we find it bizarre that Serbs are singing in Slovenian, because before it was always the other way around?

Bojan: I also never understood before that Croatians or Serbs didn't understand us. As in, is the difference in languages really so big that you don't understand us? We can understand you. The fact is that Slovenians have been in contact with the Serbo-Croatian language in one way or another since we were very young, we all go to the seaside in Croatia, and we also listen to music from those parts en masse.

But the young people of your generation speak to the locals on the Croatian coast in English because they no longer understand their language.

Both: Yes, that's also true.

How come these Balkan languages don't cause you any problems?

Bojan: It's my mother tongue anyway, so I don't have any problems.

Kris: It seems very stupid to me that Slavs should communicate in Germanic languages. Even with the Czechs at Eurovision we communicated in both languages and it worked. It seems to me very inauthentic to speak English, but on the other hand I understand, because young people in Slovenia today are surrounded by English, maybe even more than Slovenian, and it is much more natural to them than to struggle in their own language or in a language that is supposed to be related to their own. It would be interesting if "interslavic" was introduced in all countries with Slavic languages as a second or third language. This is a mixture of all the Slavic languages, which is supposedly understood by all the members of the Slavic peoples. A language that is similar in its own way to all of us.

Esperanto, invented in the late 1980s as a counterbalance to the overuse of English, was a similar project. I do not know how many people still use it today.

Kris: Introducing a new language is not the easiest cultural process.

You have a big tour coming up, actually the first tour of European capitals.

Kris: Yes, first we're going to Skopje, then Munich, The Hague, Amsterdam, Madrid and Barcelona. On the 11th of December we're going back to Slovenia for a week, when we're planning to record some more in the studio, and then we're going to do concerts until the end of the year in Slovenia, in Celje, Maribor, Novo mesto and Ljubljana.

These tours must be exhausting. Every day travelling, buses, different cities, masses of people wanting something from you.

Kris: We have six concerts coming up now.

Bojan: We've just played nine concerts in fourteen days, we were in Lithuania, Poland, Czechia and Croatia.

Do fans in other countries remember you only from Eurovision or do they know your other songs as well?

Bojan: The most fascinating thing is that they have learned all the songs from the past too. We actually managed to break that barrier with just one song, but people learned two hours of material in another language. I don't know how many hours they had to devote to it, but they did.

Are you surprised by such enthusiasm? None of you could have planned this.

Kris: We went to Eurovision with this intention, so we can't say that we were completely surprised by the success. The ultimate goal all along was to make a breakthrough abroad. But we were absolutely surprised by the scope of the response. It could have been that Carpe Diem would have been very successful abroad, but the other songs would not have caught on. But we get to the concert and there is no feeling of waiting for this greatest hit, from the first minute people are "in it" and singing.

Bojan: If we sometimes dropped a song from our repertoire that we didn't want to play in Slovenia anymore, one of them being "Proti toku" because it was totally getting on our nerves, there were revolts on the internet and people were carrying banners at concerts saying "Play Proti toku!"

Kris: When we released New Wave with Elvis Costello, we thought that foreigners would prefer to listen to the song in English, but somehow everyone demanded it in Slovenian.

Bojan: They learned the Slovenian version and that's what they want.

I could say that you are kind of the pioneers of a new wave of Slovenian music, one for which Slovenia is obviously too small. None of the previous Slovenian Eurovision representatives have impressed Europe so much.

Bojan: I really don't remember us having any artist like that before. When Sestre went to Eurovision, they rode the wave at the time too, they were doing a lot of international shows too. I mean, it was a different concept, it was a project, but it still worked. Mostly because they actually had a vision, a plan and also a background behind them, there has to be some kind of support mechanism in the process. We didn't have performers in the sense of, okay, you showed up at Eurovision, now do a one-hour concert for me. Most of the performers couldn't do that because they didn't even have enough songs.

Kris: It's not only a problem in Slovenia, you find it everywhere, even among foreign artists. The Norwegian representative was fifth in Eurovision this year, she's very popular, but she only had one song on the market after the contest was over. Now she is going to release an album, but she hasn't had enough material so far.

Have you been preparing on your own to go abroad or do you maybe have some very professional agencies behind you to promote you and push you forward?

Bojan: With the people who are with us, we are our own management. We've never had someone above us who was our boss. We have always been our own bosses. We have our own people around us, but we have reached a level of performing in Slovenia that requires you to have a big team around you. We have about 30 people accompanying us on a regular basis, including the driver. When this success story happened, this breakthrough abroad, we were able to channel our system in a new direction, to at least somehow "patch up" the line up abroad for this year.

Do you cultivate a system of democracy in the band? How do you agree on certain things? By raising your hands?

Bojan: There hasn't been a need for that so far.

Kris: Usually the majority wins, within reasonable limits, of course.

Where do you find yourself more, live performances, making music, travelling, mingling with fans?

Kris: It really depends on the time period. It has to alternate. Solely playing infinite concerts is really fun for a while, but then it becomes tiring. The number of concerts we have played now is just about on the borderline for us to go back to the studio again for some time. On the other hand, spending infinite time in the studio isn't good either. During Covid, we were locked in for two years and we were just making music the entire time, and somewhere in there we kind of lost motivation. In the studio you also realise why you love the stage.

Are you tired after concerts, after a few hours of jumping around the stage?

Kris: The concert itself tires you out much less than the travelling. If you're lucky enough to be able to afford a private bus that takes you from concert to concert, then it's a lot easier. You get into it after the concert, fall asleep, and wake up in another city. The tour that is ahead of us, however, is made up entirely of flying, and that is the worst. Hotels, rushing, packing, taxis, airports, the atmosphere in airports is really unpleasant, no one is happy there, the hours drag on... that is the harder part. The concert itself doesn't tire me out that much. Most of all, we could play two concerts in a row if the atmosphere is right.

All that requires psychological and physical fitness as well. Do you practice any sports?

Kris: I used to be a more sporty person, I regularly played tennis, but ever since Eurovision, I can't find the right time to go back to something regular. I also used to play football recreationally every week, that's gone too. When on tour, I can only afford to run or to go to the hotel gym. But I haven't gotten to the point where I could make peace with that yet.

Bojan: I currently don't exercise at all. I used to train judo for a long time, but now, unfortunately, I haven't yet forced myself to go to the gym or go running when I have a free day. I'd like to start doing that, but I'm the type of person who needs a companion to pull me along and motivate me every day. I'm most drawn to football, martial arts, or extreme sports, but now I don't dare to do anything anymore because of injuries. Lately I've been going horse riding when I'm home. I find that horses calm me down.

Do you follow politics, are you interested in what's going on in Slovenian society?

Kris: Even a year ago, I was a lot more interested than I am now. Not just because we had a different government, but because I had time to think about it. I studied international relations for a while, I'm currently doing my master's. Otherwise I'm a chemical engineering graduate who switched to another university. I used to follow Slovenian politics a lot, but now I don't know if I feel like a fully qualified citizen of Slovenia anymore, since we've spent more than half a year outside of it. When I walk through our city now, I see it with different eyes. I see it almost as if it was any other city in the world, I pay attention to things like architecture or the atmosphere people create. Before, I used to walk through Ljubljana, it was my city, but I didn't pay attention to what was around me. Now I feel like half a stranger, which is weird in a way.

Bojan: For me, Ljubljana has now become a kind of base, a safe haven. I also see it differently than before. I agree with Kris that there are plenty of things that I didn't notice at all and I only see them now. I always perceived Ljubljana in a kind of romantic way, pretty much only the centre, even though I didn't live there from a young age. Only now that we've travelled around countries like Poland, Lithuania, or Finland, I see a lot of architectural similarities, but it has started to bother me that Ljubljana is so diverse in this aspect.

Is this diversity not a good thing?

Bojan: I don't know. Ljubljana smells nice to me, when I was walking around yesterday, I felt like Ljubljana was the last stage of a place. It's hard to say that this is a city, let alone a capital city of a country. Last night I was walking around the capital city of Slovenia at half past nine, and it was literally like I was in a "zombie land". There was no one anywhere. Incredibly weird, but on the other hand, nice.

Kris: That's pretty weird.

Bojan: Everything is getting more rigid, people are locking themselves up in their homes more and more.

Where can young people of your age go out in Ljubljana?

Kris: I'm facing this problem too.

Bojan: I think that in Ljubljana, we have quite a lot of choice when it comes to the number of places meant for parties. When they are open is another problem. We have a number of high quality clubs: K4, Cirkus, Orto, Shooter... for such a small place, we have a lot of clubs. The problem for me is that Ljubljana is a completely dead city in the summer. You can't go anywhere in the summer because everything closes down except Metelkova. For a tourist who's 20 or 25 years old and comes to Ljubljana in the summer, when it's wonderful, it's the most beautiful in the summer, it's a city where they have nothing to do.

Kris: There are plenty of places to hang out, but none of them appeal to me. I used to like going to K4, not anymore now, the last club I visited was Gala hala. It was awesome there.

When you come home nowadays, do you want to go to parties, go around the town?

Bojan: No, not at all. We're not really enthused about going out. When we come back home, we find other ways to relax. When I'm home, it suits me to be able to rest. Otherwise, what I like best is going to a concert.

Kris: That's what I like best too.

The band members constantly stick together, you even go on holidays together?

Kris: We already went together, it was awesome, we function great. The only concern is that we're constantly together. It's not good to be together all the time, each of us has his own life and things to do.

But, Bojan, you even went on holiday with your parents this year? How come?

Bojan: Yes, after eight years, we went on holiday together again. I was supposed to go to Thailand with the band, after the concert in Stožice. I got tonsillitis on the day of departure, so I avoided the long journey. When I felt a little better, I went to my grandma in Banja Luka, and after that, I went on holiday with my parents for five days.

Do they look at you differently in Banja Luka than in Slovenia?

Bojan: They don't recognise me on the street there nearly as much as it happens in Slovenia, it has only happened to me a few times.

Kris: The level at which I get recognised on the street is still okay for me. Bojan is more exposed and definitely has a different perspective. Maybe the most annoying thing is that you are expected to constantly be smiling and ready to take photos. We really are like that most of the time, but there are days when you're not in the mood to socialise, but you still have a concert. Afterwards, a lot of listeners are waiting and would like to hang out with you. I'd like to tell them that I am very grateful that they're there, but that I really don't have a never-ending social battery to be able to talk to all of them.

Bojan: It is ungrateful to talk about recognisability as something negative, because it's simply a consequence of everything we have and it's an expected side product. If I'm in a public place, I know that everyone around me is listening to what I'm talking to someone about. It has become uncomfortable to talk about anything personal with anyone, because you always feel like someone is eavesdropping.

What's your favourite thing to do when you finish a gig?

Kris: The first thing I do is to take a shower. I hang out a little with the team, with the band members, sometimes we go out to take photos, but otherwise, as soon as possible I drink a glass of water and go directly to bed.

Bojan: I'm such a good boy. I always take at least one hour for taking photos with fans.

I haven't yet come across you getting caught drunk or high on various substances, which isn't rare in the music world, it's more like a rule.

Bojan: I view all these extreme excesses as filling a void. For 99 percent of these performers who are said to do this, the roots of those voids are very clear. They come from personal trauma, mostly from childhood. Thankfully all five of us in the band come from very stable and happy families, none of us lacked for anything, quite the opposite, we all had everything endlessly. We have maximum support from all the people around us. We don't feel the need to rebel against anything, because we actually have nothing to rebel against. All these bands that did a lot of drugs and alcohol actually mostly broke up very quickly.

Bojan, you appear to be very energetic on stage, you're spontaneous and charismatic, you have the public eating our of your hand. Do you unleash your alter ego on the stage? Is that a different Bojan?

Bojan: You'd have to ask the guys from the band who spend the most time with me. As far as I know from the stories from people who have known me since I was little, I have always been loud and very talkative. I always liked performing and I wouldn't say that I put on an act on stage. On stage, I let myself go to the max, I think that I really mould myself into what I think belongs on stage. It's not a different Bojan on the stage, he just does some things that belong on stage.

Kris: Bojan on stage is in a higher gear. It's the same for the whole band.

Bojan: People can feel other people. Everything that happened to us is also in large part a consequence of people actually feeling that we are the same people on stage as we are when we come off the stage. We're real here, there's no acting, we also don't think that we're any better than them. We're all friends, they're below the stage, we're on the stage, and we have fun together.

Kris: It's also true that I feel more free on stage. We're allowed more. I enjoy the fact that our concert is a sort of a valve, even though I hate that word.

Like every ordinary woman, I can't skip past your fantastic stage clothes. All my female friends want to wear them.

Bojan: I would also like to wear them in my private life, but I already have a closet full of clothes that have piled up throughout my life, and they aren't like the ones we wear at gigs. But I would like to walk out of my room every day dressed in a way that made me look like I'm in Miami in the 80s, or like a mix between a "drug dealer" and a "drug cop".

Kris: My sister has already looted my closet. I looted my dad's.

Bojan: I have looted the closets of my parents and my sister.

Kris, your dad is a famous musician. Did he help you at the start, what kind of advice does he give you?

Kris: My dad only helped me in the sense that I sometimes showed him what I had written or what we had recorded in the studio, and he gave his opinion. But that hasn't happened in a year now, ever since I moved out. Before that, he could hear me through the walls when I was playing.

Bojan: I've also become independent. Although now when we come back from a tour, I still like going back home the best.

What does independence look like?

Kris: I like it. I can't imagine going back home anymore, even though I love my family immensely. But us not living together anymore has only made our relationships better. I like having my own peace, but I also like coming back home for lunch.

BIOGRAPHY In 2017, five friends started a band called Joker Out. They had all been musically active before, but they achieved the first big success as a band as the winning group of Špil liga in Kino Šiška in Ljubljana. After this victory, the boys became sought-after on all Slovenian musical stages. They released two albums, Umazane misli in 2021 and Demoni a year later. In those two years, they also received two 'Zlata piščal' ('Golden Flute') awards, in 2020 for newcomers of the year, and again next year for artists of the year. This spring, RTV Slovenia sent Joker Out and their song Carpe Diem to Eurovision where, despite a lot of attention from fans, they ended in a modest 21st place. Despite that, European music enthusiasts have welcomed them as their own, their popularity is growing quickly. Joker Out are currently filling the biggest European concert stages, which no Slovenian musician has managed before.

If you repost quotes from the interview, please link back to this post!

[wosowrites]

New Fear Unlocked (Mapi Leon x Reader)

Warnings: ⚠️swearing⚠️

A/n: i know germany was in the finals but for the sake of this story let’s say it was spain instead. based off this request:

Prompt: in which mapi makes a bad tackle against you in the euro final, ending your tournament and season.

"With Spain playing England in the Euro final, it’s important to talk about both teams. But the real surprise right now is the fact that Spain has actually made it this far. Why? Mapi Leon’s questionable defending."

"The real shock is usual defensive champion, María León’s rocky performance throughout this tournament."

"Spain’s number 16 is going to have to step up during this final or they’ll get crushed by the Lionesses."

"Another thing that needs to be talked about is the relationship between british superstar striker, Y/n Y/l/n who’s been having a great tournament and shockingly questionable María León, who’s given heart attacks to Spanish fans all over the world for her close calls and bad mistakes. Seeing this power couple for barcelona play each other in a final will be interesting."

"María. Get off your phone. You know better." Ona told the older woman in spanish, snatching her phone and plopping it in the defenders bag. "We play the biggest game of our lives in 45 minutes. The last thing you need is that device." Ona added. "I know. I know." Mapi said, pulling out her cleats and putting them on.

"Big game, y/n. How do you feel?" Your captain asked you. You were manspreading on the bench at your cubby, your forearms resting on your thighs, your head hung in thought. "I feel as though I want to make my country proud." You told Leah, looking up at her and smiling. "And…" She added. "And i’m terrified. Of hurting Mapi, of loosing, of making a mistake." You told her. Most of the team had headphones in, but you didn’t listen to music before games. Leah sat down beside you and looked at you. "You have already made your country proud, if we loose, we loose together, if you make a mistake, we have all got your backs. And you and María have been dating for three years, this will not be the end of your relationship. I promise you." Leah said, rubbing a hand up and down your back. "You’re right. You’re right." You said to her. She smiled at you and walked back to her cubby. You were starting today, and so was Mapi. It would be hard, and scary, and you didn’t know what tomorrow would look like.

You walked into the tunnel wearing your England kit and your england jacket. Your hair was in a tight messy bun on the top of your head, and Mapi was standing in line at the same spot you were. You gently reached out and squeezed her hand, she squeezed back and you made sure not to make eye contact with her. Today, she was the opponent, and nothing else.

You knew what the media was saying about your girlfriend, and it made your blood boil. When you talked to Mary Earps about it, she listened, but told you you couldn’t focus on that. She was right.

Soon, the referees started walking and you followed your squad out. You made your way into Wembley, the crowd bringing the most wild atmosphere you had every experienced. You lined up and the spanish national anthem started playing. You stood tall respectfully, it was your girlfriend home country and your clubs country after all. But when the english anthem played, you pushed your shoulders back, lifted your chin, put one hand on your heart and the other one behind your back. You sang, badly, but so was everyone else.

And then… kickoff.

You were a winger, which you thought really annoying for this exact game, because Sarina had put you left wing, and Mapi was right back, which means you’d be clashing throughout the game.

The first 20 minutes were dramatic. The pressure was sky high, the environment was wild, and at least ten fouls for both teams were called. But after that, it calmed down a bit.

The start of the second half was slow, everyone was freaking out, not wanting it to go to penalties. Leah was constantly having to yell at her squad to calm down and breathe. It was as though everything both teams had learned about staying calm and composed went flying out the window. And then, out of nothing, you received the most splendid ball from Keira Walsh. And then you were running, you took one touch, Mapi on one said, Ona Batlle on the other, and lifted the ball over the keeper and into the net.

Wembley went crazy. You ran as fast as you could towards then bench, arms wide, fans screaming, team yelling, atmosphere unmatched.

The kickoff happened three minutes later, and almost right away, England got the ball back and it was sent to Ella Toone. The woman received it perfectly, but then switched it to you. That’s when you felt an ankle collide with yours. You knew immediately something was wrong. Your ankle folded inwards and you yelled, loud enough for the stadium who were mostly holding their breaths to hear. You saw a cleat clear the ball away, and that’s when you saw the initials. Through your agony, even though you were rolling on the floor, crying and holding your ankle. You could see the initials ML on those cleats. The cleats that had just taken you out.

Leah, Ella and Chloe were soon at your side, calling over the medics. "What’s wrong?" Ella asked, crouching beside you. "Is she okay?" You asked a spanish voice say. "Get away from her. Right now." You heard Fran Kirby say. You ignored Mapi and Fran, too focused on the pain in your ankle. "I don’t know. But it’s wrong. Something is wrong." You cried, lying on your back and holding your ankle to your chest. You heard the stadium cheer and could only assume your girlfriend had gotten a yellow. You looked over to confirm your theory. Red.

She hadn’t done it on purpose. You knew that. You weren’t mad. Pained, sad, scared? Yes. Mad? No. You watched Mapi look at you with a look of despair before walking towards the tunnel. The medics were at your side now, touching your ankle and unlacing your cleat. As one of the men tried to take it off, you screamed loudly, putting your fist in your mouth to stay quiet. "It’s broken. For sure." The man whispered to the woman beside him. "Fuck." She muttered, looking at you.

You looked at the faces of your teammates, all of them broken to loose their goalscorer. "No." You cried. "No."

But the medics were waving over a stretcher, and you had pulled your jersey over your face, trying to hide your crying face. You kept it over your face as you got put into the stretcher, you hid your face as Leah whispered reassurance to you, you kept it hidden as the crowd stood up and cheered for you loudly. You kept it hidden as they carried you into the medical room and walked past Mapi, who was sitting against the wall in the entrance, crying almost as loudly as you were.

In the medical room, you had abandoned your shirt, wanting no recollection of the history making game being played only a few steps away from you. And then you heard screaming, but it wasn’t loud. Just loud enough to make it clear that the spaniards were happy. They had leveled the game. You started crying even harder. "We should really get you to a hospital y/n." One of the medics said. "Listen. My team is out there working their asses off to win the euros, and when we do, because we will, i’m going to walk out on that pitch in crutches and celebrate with them. Am I clear?" You told her. She nodded, and got out things to keep your ankle steady.

Mapi, who was now siting in the away locker room, was watching the game on the TV in there. And when Alexia scored, she couldn’t even find it in her to care. She just wanted to go back in time and not have fouled you. She just hoped you would forgive her.

The second your ankle was wrapped up and put in a boot, you stood up and used crutches to make your way back into the pitch. When you walked out, people went wild again, you smiled slightly, trying to seem brave through your surely puffy eyes. Sarina and some players walked up too you. Hugging you and congratulating you on your goal. You told them it was broken and your club season was over, they looked almost as sad as you did. It was only three minutes later that Chloe Kelly found the back of the net. She took off her shirt and ran around the stadium as you pumped your fists in the air, staying seated and yelling.

And then it was all over.

The spaniards fell to the ground, some of the lionesses did too, but for different reasons. You went as quickly as you could onto the pitch, but your crutches were bringing you nowhere.

You were angry, angry not at Mapi but at the media for making her feel as though she had something to prove, for messing with her mind. You saw Lucy Bronze run up to you. You stopped in your tracks and let your crutches fall, balancing on one foot and ignoring the pain in the broken one. She wrapped her arms around you, picking you up and letting you wrap your legs around her waist. You hugged her and cried, she did too, and then she put you on her back and carried you to the rest of the girls who started screaming and jumping and crying at the sight of you. The team, the managers, every person that made the lionesses, the lionesses came into a big group hug, while still being mindful of your ankle.

It was when people started going to find their families and friends in the crowd that Millie sat you down in the middle of the field, asked if you were okay and then left to find her boyfriend that it sunk in. That everything sunk in. That England were european champions, that you had scored in a euro final, that you’re ankle was broken because of the love of your life, and that the only person you wanted to see was crying by herself in the away locker room. You didn’t have anyone else. Your family was on the pitch, in barcelona, and on the opposite team. Your parents were deadbeat, all your friends were football players, and you have never felt this emotion before. The crossover between feeling lost, and feeling pure and utter joy.

The trophy lift was unreal, the smiles on people’s faces, unmatched. But when fans started leaving, and England made their way into the changing rooms, you parted from the group with Sarinas permission. You made your way instead to the Spanish locker room. The whole corridor was silent, and what broke the silence was your first rapping against the door. Aitana Bonmati, another one of your Barcelona teammates opened the door. Her eyes were puffy, her cheeks were wet, and at the sight of her you started crying as well. And not the happy tears from the trophy lift. "I’m sorry." You hiccuped. Aitana abandoned the door and hugged you tightly, mindful of your crutches. "It’s okay darling. Shh." She said lovingly. You felt bad for having her comfort you. You pulled away and saw the spanish team in the changing room, the head coach looked like he didn’t want you there at all, and in all honesty, you were scared of him. Mapi was nowhere to be seen. "I need to talk to María." You told Aitana.

She nodded stiffly and walked into the bathroom connected to the changing room. A minute later, Mapi walked out. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, she was shaking and she couldn’t look at you. She walked into the hallway and stood in the middle of the corridor. You closed the changing room door, struggling a little. "I’m so-" Mapi started saying. "Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for. You made… a bad tackle. Yes. But you would have never, ever done that if it wasn’t for the media and what people were saying. They got to you. And I hate that. I hate it." You said, sniffling and playing with the medal around your neck.

Mapi looked up and you, her lower lip shaking. "Really? You’re not breaking up with me?" Mapi said.

You looked at her sadly. "Put your back against the wall." You told her.

She raised her eyebrows, using her tattooed palm to wipe away her teary cheeks. She didn’t argue though, placing her back on the wall and looking at you in confusion. You used your crutches to walk over to her, placing yourself in front of her. Balancing on one foot, you took both crutches and leaned them against the wall beside Mapi. You put your hands on her stomach, feeling her rock hard abs. And then you kissed her. You kissed her to tell her you loved her, and you forgave her, and you were sorry Spain lost. And she kissed you to tell you she loved you, she was sorry for injuring you, and she was so proud you had won.

Because after all, it was always going to be Mapi and Y/N, Y/N and Mapi.

[gemsofgreece]

RIP Mimis Plessas

Mimis Plessas, a giant of Greek music composition, passed away at the age of 99. In fact, he would turn 100 in just 7 days and a big tribute concert with him as a honorary guest in order to celebrate his 100 years was planned for October 10th.

Some interesting facts about Mimis Plessas:

He became the First Piano Soloist in Greece in a very young age.

He studied Chemistry in Athens and the USA. He was a Chemistry Honorary Doctor in the University of Patras in Greece and the Cornell University of New York.

He won the first Music Award of the University of Minnesota.

A little later he was ranked as the fifth best active pianist in the USA, no small achievement for a young Greek immigrant who was there for chemistry.

He started music composition in 1952. He composed music for 104 movies and 70 theatrical plays. He was quite probably the most productive film music composer in Greece, writing laikó songs, musicals and instrumental film music.

He had conducted several of the most famous orchestras in the world and he has recorded albums of his in the US, the UK, France, the Netherlands and Spain.

His album Ο Δρόμος (The Road) with lyricist Lefteris Papadopoulos and singer Yannis Poulopoulos is the most commercially successful album of Greek music domestically.

In 2001 he was awarded the Gold Cross of the Order of the Phoenix (which apart from a Harry Potter book is also a legit honorary order of Greece since 1926) for his contribution to Greek music.

Below are a few of my favourite compositions by Mimis Plessas:

Το Άγαλμα (The Statue, from The Road)

Του Αγοριού Απέναντι (To The Boy Over There)

Βρέχει Φωτιά Στην Στράτα Μου (It Rains Fire On My Way)

Θα Πιω Απόψε το Φεγγάρι (I Will Drink the Moon Tonight)

Οι Θαλασσιές Σου Οι Χάντρες (Your Sea-Blue Beads)

For anyone interested, Mimis Plessas also produced a lot of jazz music but because I am not into that genre, I wouldn't know what to recommend. But he wrote most of the shakes in Greek movies. For example, The Spider's Shake is his (sorry for bad quality). (Pay no mind, just another excuse for me to post Karagianni.)

And this slow sequence by Vouyouklaki is also his. (BTW this comedy is such a must watch if you speak Greek)

RIP Mimis

[sgiandubh]

Keepers of the Quaich

This time, we're going to look at things a bit differently and this could very well be my most speculative post ever. So be it: it is a risk I am taking and warning you about from the get go.

The only thing Mordor understood about the next October 4 event organized by the US Chapter of The Keepers of the Quaich is something that probably gave them collective relief: S is not going to be with C on her birthday. Not together. Not on the same continent. Shut up, shippers, you are stupid.

As usually, Mordor takes things at a very primitive face value, without bothering for context. But they always focused on the lewd side of the story, not on its deep ramifications, of which there are many. Anything that denies S's halfwit manwhore image upsets them greatly.

The Scottish society of The Keepers of the Quaich is not one of those old, steeped in tradition clubs, but it is damn selective. It only dates back to 1988, which is almost five minutes ago, for Europe (and especially the UK) and is deeply rooted in Highlands' lore, celebrating excellence in whisky trade and promotion worldwide. General facts about it have already been discussed elsewhere, but with a bias and little to no context. Also, really LOL at Mordor's idiocy to think that was a fan promotion event and go ballistic for the members-only and by invitation access to it.

Membership is by co-opting and with a five-year proven performance history only (ten years, if you step up to Master level). You need not one, but two recommendations, which makes it harder to join than a Masonic lodge or the Rotary Club (and I know what I am saying, heh). That S could actively seek to be inducted, rather sooner than later, is pretty much clear, as he could use the network it readily provides, along with the prestige:

(Sourced at: https://www.diffordsguide.com/encyclopedia/341/people/keepers-of-the-quaich)

I first had a look at the list of its International Chapters and it is interesting to notice Muslim countries as Turkey or the Emirates each having their own chapter, which clearly tells me it's all about luxury and more specifically, luxury hospitality business, in that case. If inducted after the customary five years' wait, S could also make good use of the German chapter's (a market that proved to be very problematic for him) network, along with the Nordics and Netherlands, if he would think about cleverly expanding his trade in the EU. Last but not least, I would keep an eye on Brazil and India (along with the more predictable South Africa and Australia), because he already has a solid fanbase in the first one and well, Asia is always interesting, when it comes to alcohol business.

I did not really bother with the list of the Patrons, which spells a good and prestigious sliver of Debrett's Peerage's Scottish section. But I also looked at the list of the Management Committee, who does all the hands-on dealings and is directly responsible for the induction ceremony of new members. Aside from representatives of Diageo and Pernod Ricard (giants of the alcohol business world), a familiar name popped right at the bottom of the page:

Annabel Meikle, Director of The Keepers of the Quaich and as such, directly involved in the management of its activities (and probably also in all the underground shenanigans leading to the induction of new members, too). A great contact to have in your rolodex, judging by her public CV on LinkedIn:

Glenmorangie (also a member of the Keepers) - keep that reference under your sleeve, we are going to need it soon :).

Could she be related to...

I am leaving this without an answer, because I don't know and I will always refuse to go data mining for anything, but that sure as hell is not a common surname, as Smith or Martin!

At any rate, Mrs. Meikle is also (along with the Duke of Argyll, the current Keepers Grand Master) a member of The Scottish Committee of something very, very prestigious: The Worshipful Company of Distillers (https://www.distillers.org.uk/), based in London and founded in 1638, by Royal Charter (for “Body Politique and corporate” to govern the “Trade Arte and Mystery of Distillers of London” - how I love history, people!) granted by Charles I, a Stuart (of course). I am speculating and having visions of Livery status and Freedom of the City, followed by Knighthood for S (no bong needed, this particular narrative writes itself and believe it or not, it's not entirely without logic). And it is my strict constitutional right to be a poetic coo about it - that guy is smarter than we thought and I would curate that contact to death if I were him (but I am not, I am just a benevolent and intrigued observer, as you all know). Back to Earth from these optimistic conjectures, I will keep a tab on it, as I dutifully took note that one of their current interests is tequila:

Onwards to the US. We can have a fair idea of October 4th event just by looking at one of their few press releases on the occasion of the Chapter's launch gala, on September 25 2019, in New York (https://www.distilledspirits.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/KOTQUSA-Release-10.04.19.pdf - with quotes selected by me):

Moët Hennessy. Another reference to keep under our sleeve, for it will be soon very relevant. So yes, what has been speculated by Miss Marple is partially true: more business than aristocratic. But this is only if we do not consider as American aristocratic the venue of the next event. The Metropolitan Club is a very East Coast, WASP old money and (well, technically yes) Republican (but not MAGA Republican and this, to me, is very important for some reason) organization:

That was the state of play on Friday, folks, and I was already excited to share my optimistic findings with you. And then, C went to Paris and more dots started to speculatively connect. Bare with me for this long passegiata, I think it's worth it.

It was particularly important that C would be seen in a very friendly-casual pose with Delphine Arnault, out of all the other people attending that event. Not because Arnault is currently the big boss of Dior and Loewe (as I already explained here: https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/729801825900953600/city-of-lights?source=share). And not only because C suddenly seems very interested to renew and expand her fashion days' old network. But also, because, as I already said, Delphine Arnault is also the daughter of her father and in France, business and family are always closely entwined. Always.

The French luxury market is roughly split between two behemoth players: Bernard Arnault (LVMH Moët Hennessy • Louis Vuitton S.A) and Antoine Pinault (Kering, ex- Pinault-Printemps- Redoute). These people and their businesses are number 1 and 2, respectively, on the global market. And out of these two, the only one very interested in the alcohol business is Arnault (Pinault does not deal in this sector).

So I took a look at his very diverse alcohol and spirits brand portfolio (25 references - https://www.lvmh.com/houses/wines-spirits/): rhum, brandy, champagne, tequila, wines (Argentina and even China). Two Scottish whisky brands: first Ardberg (the graceful peat from Islay). And - oh, hello, Mrs. Meikle - Glenmorangie, acquired by Arnault in 2004, after a bitter battle with Pernod Ricard (https://www.nytimes.com/2004/10/21/business/world-business-briefing-europe-france-scotch-maker-acquired.html):

Back at Mrs. Meikle's CV - hers was a pivotal role in the post-acquisition reshuffle, as part of LVMH:

Coincidence? I think not.

And then also a bourbon reference. Woodinville (based in the state of Washington, USA) with a pitch that made me grin again like the Cheshire Cat:

Sounds familiar? Rings a bell? See a pattern? You should: no, it's not S in disguise, but it could be SS in a couple of years, if S decided to sell it for a hefty profit.

But I was also interested in what is missing from this catalogue.

NO GIN.

Who knows? Maybe these French people could be enticed? In that case (and remember: I am SPECULATING), it would have to be a brand with a proven track record. You see, Arnault is famous for always buying only brands with a proven history and proven recognition (Tasting Alliance, anyone? LOL). Up until now and as is, FMN is just a pet project and a virtual endeavor. Nothing more and we shall see. But that little wild Scottish gin which could win hearts and already an award in Frisco is something completely different.

Now, then. You connect the dots. You draw your own conclusions. I see something very intriguing here and, as I already told you, the business underground situation is completely different from the bland façade.

You see, this is not about papers or checking a pulse or awkwardly grabbing a fist on some stairs. This is show me the money time. This is all about finding unexpected connections, at a very high level and on a very narrow niche.

So you think S and C can't stand each other anymore?

Humbug. They have each other's back from Day 1. And more. Ship on, ladies. Whatever clownery these days might bring, I know what I know. And by now, you should start asking yourselves the real questions, not if Waldo is with Carmen Sandiego (we KNOW), nor if they were online at the same time or not. I mean, that's cute: but to be honest, I think we're past that... uh... waypoint?

Next on my list is that Lallybroch trademark thing. This is the most complex one and I will take my time. I may speculate, but never without a logical base. And I always take these things very seriously.

Keepers of the Quaich, indeed. :)

[sleepyhollowtimburton]

Origins of the Headless Horseman legend

Despite the legend of Sleepy Hollow being one of the oldest American written horror stories, the origin behind the Headless Horseman is a lot older and originates in Europe.

Washington Irving first published the legend of Sleepy Hollow between 1819-1820. In this story, it is explained that the Headless Horseman was a German mercenary soldier, a Hessian hailing from the German state Hessen, who unfortunately lost his head during the revolutionary war after being hit by a canon ball to the face. It is interesting that Irving chose for a German origin for the Horseman in a Dutch town as both Germany and the Netherlands have legends of headless horsemen, talking decapitated heads, ghost riders in the dark that have its origins in pre-Christian times.

Here are some examples of the headless horseman myth from different countries in Europe:

Netherlands: The belief in the wild hunt was once quite important in pre-Christian times, it's in fact the origin of the modern Dutch holiday of Sinterklaas which was introduced in the USA as Santa Clause. As the days shorten and winter arrives, the Germanic God Wodan, or in some instances the Goddess Hel/Holle, rides through the sky followed by a horde of the undead. Anyone unfortunate enough to see the riders in the sky, would soon die and join the hunt. To please the hunt, people began to give offerings to the God Wodan and his horse Sleipnir, placing carrots in shoes, this tradition is still being done in the Netherlands until this very day. I am myself a Germanic Pagan and I honour the wild hunt by making offerings to Wodan and his horse and blowing the midwinter horn.

There is also a Dutch medieval song 'Heer Halewijn', the origins of which are assumed to be older, an oral tradition before being written down around the 15th century. This song tells the tale of a princess set out to meet Halewijn who in turn ends up being a murderer who decapitates women in the forest. The princess manages to decapitate Halewijn instead and takes his head with her to her father the king, Halewijn's decapitated head however continues to talk to the princess.

Ireland: In Irish folklore, the Dullahan is a headless evil entity who rides a horse while carrying his head under his arm. This spectre is perhaps the most famous and classic example of the visual origin of the Headless Horseman. Not only does the Dullahan carry his own head, he also wields a whip made out of a human spine. Whenever the Dullahan halts his horse, a death will happen by calling out that person's name. Some say that the Dullahan is the spirit of Crom Dubh, a Celtic deity who was worshiped by means of human sacrifices.

There is also the Cóiste Bodhar, a strange headless entity who drives a black coach. Bodhar is a harbinger of death who arrives to announce the passing of a relative or a loved one, quite similar to the grim reaper.

Wales: Now the country of Wales is home to quite a few headless mysteries. One of the more famous stories tells about a headless woman: 'Fenyw heb un pen' who eerily also rides a horse without a head. Another story tells of how Bryn Hall was haunted by a headless horseman until the horseman pointed towards a body which turned out to be the dead body of an illegimate child of Bryn Hall. This version of the Headless Horseman seems to have been more benign, rather than being a harbinger of death or a crazed killer.

Germany: Germany is also home to several Headless Horseman legends and is of course the home country of Irving's version of the Headless Horseman. Most of Germany's legends originate from the Rhineland area and were part of a morality tale. Many of these Headless Horsemen were doomed men, being punished for their sins on earth so they had to wander until they had atoned for their sins. Sometimes these Headless men would perform good deeds, most times however they would kill victims, not by decapitation but simply by touching them. Both Germany and the Netherlands believed in the Wild Hunt legend and it is alleged that many of these Headless Horsemen have their origin in the pagan wild hunt.

England: England also has several legends concerning Headless Horsemen, one of these is part of the legend of Arthur, the Green Knight. This knight challenged one man in Arthur's court to strike him down with his axe but the Green Knight warned the man he would strike the man back later in a year. As promised, the knight got decapitated, picked up his head and later decapitated the man whom he challenged. Another headless horseman legend originates from the Dartmoor area, nothing much is known about this legend other than that people have seen a headless man riding around the countryside.

In the end, the Headless Horseman has its origins in both Celtic and Germanic mythology and new versions of the legend keep on popping up throughout history, either as a bringer/omen of death or as a killer waiting for his unfortunate victims. Seldomly is the Headless Horseman a benign person helping people in need.

The legend found its way to the USA thanks to Dutch, Irish, English and German settlers and was immortalized by Washington Irving in his 1820 story 'the legend of Sleepy Hollow'. Washington Irving himself probably based the story on the old Dutch and German stories as he was familiar with them thanks to his travels. The retellings of German folktakes 'Volksmärchen der Deutschen, 1783 was especially a big source of inspiration for Washington Irving.

[ask-nyc-boroughs]

Tony/Brooklyn & Lynn/Manhattan going on vacation, Lynn said she’d also help carry bags…alas. Anyways they’re in a Leyendecker color study I did & that I am very proud of how it came out ! Tony & Lynn are only married for legal purposes cause of the 1898 amalgamation of NYC (which gives us 5 boroughs).

Also I haven’t talked about the boroughoes in ages! I’ve been very focused on my Alfred & states lore that I haven’t touched my NYC lore 😭❤️ my OG lore. I’ll share some major changes and other thoughts below the cut. Also scroll the bottom for a little doodle of the boroughs :D

I do love my borough ocs dearly they’re my oldest babies (9/10 years and going ❤️). And I love working on their lore BUT I feel a lot of the depth of their lore can be better discussed if I also work on lore at a state (Jennie/ New York State) and a national (Alfred/USA) level. Don’t worry I haven’t casted them aside, just cooking and learning new things as I work on Jennie & Alfred so I can better understand how different relationship dynamics impact each borough (especially as Lynn/Manhattan is basically their boss).

Before I delve into major changes in my lore, for newer folks, I’m gonna give a brief description of each borough oc:

Manaháhtaan “Lynn Cooper” / Manhattan borough is essentially the “boss” of all the boroughs. She’s born slightly before European colonization to Ms. Munsee Lenape and Mr. Mohican. For various reasons, she’s not particularly close to her parents nowadays. Lynn is a bit like a princess. She expects only the finest things in life, and she’s known to be perhaps a bit greedy and definitely cut-throat ambitious and will squash you like a bug if she deems you unworthy, but she’s quite charming. Her loud, bold, intense, no nonsense, but with perhaps a flirtatious smile makes her someone people wanna be around. She’s close friends with her fellow boroughs, Jennie/ New York State, and Alfred/ USA.

Anthonij “Tony” Cohen/ Brooklyn is a proud man who is always been rather peeved his best friend and greatest rival is essentially his boss and his legal wife, but he can’t ever really hate her. However, Tony will absolutely dig in his heels and give Lynn a hard time like pretending he’s a separate city still. His gregarious nature, and his interests in many topics from fashion to politics makes him someone you want to get know better. On another note, Tony was born to human parents during the New Netherland period, and he’s of African-American and Ashkenazi Jewish descent. Tony began to connect more with Judaism in the late 1800s specifically Reform Judaism. Tony is dating Andy/Queens, and he likes hanging out with his friends (and also making fun of them). Tony is always a bit peeved at Jennie for making him and Lynn marry, but they mostly get along, and they often celebrate Jewish holidays together (alongside with Jennie’s sister Elise/ New Jersey). Tony is also good friends with Alfred.

Andrew “Andy” Perez/ Queens was born to human parents some point during the late 1800s and is of Dominican and Chinese (probably Cantonese) descent. He’s a rather reserved man. He does have a bit of a bitch face, but he’s honestly quite friendly if you get him talking. He enjoys a more quiet pace of life. You’ll find him hanging around his neighborhoods, playing chess or helping folks out or just yapping. During the summer, you’re highly likely to find him at Rockaway beach catching some waves.

Rodrick “Rodrigo” Madden/ The Bronx was born to human parents in the late 1800s and he’s of Puerto Rican and Irish descent. Nowadays, he does try to act like Mr. Tough guy, but that’s to hide the fact he doesn’t wanna be hurt again. He’s not been treated well by Lynn as a friend in the past and he somewhat blames his more naive and rather naturally friendly nature as the reason why. But Rodrigo is a sweetheart. His heart has almost always been in the right place. He’ll give you the clothes off his back even if it hurt him. He has a pet calico cat named Teddy that was once a barn cat from he used to be farmer (also I randomly decided the cat also immortal cause I can’t mentally kill off this cat).

François “Frank” Russo/Staten Island was born to human parents during the New Netherland period and is of Walloon and Italian (probably Neapolitan) descent. He can be rather intense especially when he’s passionate about something, and often thinks of himself as the center of universe. He may off as an annoying asshole but if you put aside the self centered attitude, the extreme bouts of passion and stubbornness, and maybe his lack of manners- you’ll find he’s not a bad guy.

Also why borough ocs, Egg? Uh cause I can. When I made them, no one else was doing this and I felt a New York City character can’t be explained in just a character alone plus culturally and politically the boroughs are actual entities thus for me mentally justifies why I could personify them.

OK also one of the more major changes to the lore is that Lynn & Tony are now legally married due to the 1898 amalgamation. As I mentioned numerous times on this blog, I want to explore more serious and complicated themes especially as I’ve gotten older. I now interpret the amalgamation a bit like a marriage between New York City (then just Lynn) and the city of Brooklyn. They’re still friends/rivals. Also Tony is gay. But I’m interested in exploring the idea of these personifications being public figures and how aspects maybe like tokenization, homophobia, misogyny can also impact them. I’ll expand on this another time as I don’t want to take away from the point of this post.

The other major update is that Andy/Queens & Rodrigo/the Bronx only come into existence as aeterni (borrowing term from a pirenaia on twitter) when they’re older kids and at some point btwn 1870s-1890s. This just changes their aging timeline a bit is all. I made this change cause I really want my borough ocs to reflect the inhabitants and groups that have had significant influences on the culture of this city. As Rodrigo is Puerto Rican / Irish in his ethnic background and Andy is Chinese / Dominican, the most significant beginnings of the migration of these groups to the city started in the late 1800s (picked up x1000 post wwii). It wasn’t like impossible before but I felt the explanation was too loose ++ the Bronx & Queens were just beginning to urbanize at this period & beforehand I’m gonna argue did not have much of a major cultural thing. I need both a major cultural aspect and some sort of political aspect to create ocs. Alsooo eastern Bronx as a character no longer exists in this universe- Frances rip 🙏

hehe that’s all (for now)- here’s a boroughoes doodle

[fatehbaz]

In August 1963, the Dutchveterinarian Dan (E.H.) Kampelmacher stepped on a plane to Lima, the capital of Peru. His destination: smelly factories in Lima’s port city which ground up tiny anchovy fish from the Pacific Ocean into huge amounts of animal feed. Peru exported one fifth of this ‘fishmeal’ to the Netherlands, where farmers used it to feed their quickly rising numbers of chickens and pigs in new intensive livestock or ‘factory’ farms. [...]

The ports of Lima and Rotterdam connected the ecosystems of Peruvian fishmeal plants and Dutch farms. [...] [H]ardly anyone showed any interest in what the stuff was made of. Although Dutch farmers had started to refer to their new industrial poultry and pig farms as ‘landless’ at this point in time, they did not intend this phrase to mean their growing dependence on oceans rather than land. Rather, it characterized a fundamental change in livestock farming: in the postwar era farmers could increase their numbers of animals independently of the area of land they had for growing feed. The phrase ‘landless’ erased from view that these farms in fact depended on places elsewhere on the planet. [...] [T]he fish, called “anchoveta” [were] from the Humboldt Current ecosystem [...].

Fishmeal was invisible, despite its crucial importance for two interrelated major changes in the Netherlands and the global north in general: the rise of intensive livestock farming, and the unprecedented increase in the consumption of meat and eggs. [...] How did fishmeal and its environmental impacts connect industrial livestock farming in the global north to its production places in the global south [...]? [...]

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Shadow places are ‘all those places that produce or are affected by the commodities you consume, places consumers don’t know about, don’t want to know about, and in a commodity regime don’t ever need to know about or take responsibility for’. It is very similar to the ‘ghost acres’ concept used by environmental and global historians: the acres of land countries used elsewhere on the planet [...]. Cushman analyses the rise of the Peruvian fishmeal industry as another case of what he calls ‘neo-ecological imperialism’: the ‘Blue Revolution’ [...], to stress the connection between fishmeal production in the Pacific World and the rise of industrial livestock farming in the global north. [...]

Fishmeal fed the twentieth-century shift to industrial livestock farming – the Netherlands was among the top three fishmeal importers internationally from 1954 to 1972. [...] Animal proteins – and fishmeal in particular – played an essential role in this shift to industrial livestock farming [...]. But for poultry and pigs, animal proteins were an ‘indispensable ingredient’ [...]. Internationally, fishery landings tripled in the period 1950–1973 due to the rise in fishmeal production for animal feed. [...] During the Peruvian fishmeal boom from 1958 until 1970, [...] [t]he livestock sector started to refer to it explicitly as ‘Peru fishmeal’ [...]. The Netherlands was the second-largest importer after the USA in 1955 [...].

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According to Cushman and Wintersteen, the spectacular rise of the Peruvian fishmeal industry was the result of [...] international interest in the Peruvian stocks of small fish suitable for fishmeal production, interest from the USA in particular.

After the collapse of the Californian fishmeal industry shortly after the Second World War, industrial fishmeal plants in Peru were realised with American marine expertise, investments by American industrialists, subsidiaries of American companies like Cargill and Ralston Purina, and second-hand American fishmeal equipment and technology. [...]

As a result, the Peruvian fishery industry changed radically during the 1950s. Rather than a being a by-product of fish canneries, fishmeal became its core focus. [...] [A]nd industrialists moved in entire fishmeal plants from the USA and Scandinavia. These plants could turn 5.4 tons of fish into a ton of fishmeal at the peak of the industry [...].

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Angola exported fishmeal under Portuguese colonial rule (until 1975), and South Africa exported fishmeal during Apartheid (until 1994). In Chile the neoliberal dictatorship of general Augusto Pinochet (1973–1990) gave fishmeal industrialists free rein again from 1973 onwards, and Chile had replaced Peru as the major fishmeal exporter by 1980.

Social inequality was exacerbated [...]. Fishmeal industrialists made enormous amounts of money, and stock exchanges in the global north enabled speculation on fishmeal. Simultaneously, workers in the fishmeal plants were poorly paid and lived in slums with no paved roads, running water or electricity, unhealthy conditions and polluted air. Fishmeal’s volatile market resulted in labour unrest during the 1960s in Peru, and during the 1980s in Chile. [...] Many factories were moved to less-regulated places along the coast, taking the air pollution and resulting public health problems with them. One of these places was the city of Chimbote, which quickly grew into the largest fishmeal city of Peru, and became ‘one of the nation’s … most polluted cities’. [...] One place impacted by the feeding of fish to farm animals was in particular in shadows: the marine ecosystems from which the tiny fish were taken, like the Pacific Humboldt Current along the coast of Peru and Chile. [...]

The ocean ecosystems in the global south exploited to feed the industrial livestock sector in the north remained largely invisible. [...] The disappearance of the Peruvian anchoveta also made the ‘protein crisis’ move north. The Dutch livestock sector referred to the ‘true emergency situation’ of the Peruvian fishmeal crisis as the ‘protein crisis’ (‘de eiwit-crisis’). [...] But in 1972–1973 the Humboldt Current marine ecosystem created its own shadow places in both the north and the south. The extraordinary strong El Niño led to the sudden disappearance of the anchovy population [...].

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All text above by: Floor Haalboom. “Oceans and Landless Farms: Linking Southern and Northern Shadow Places of Industrial Livestock (1954-1975).” Environment and History Volume 28 Number 4. November 2022. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[vidavalor]

Hey lovely.

Had a bit of a rabbit hole about Cheneval wine I thought I'd share.

I was thinking about Aziraphale's bad French and possibly one of the reasons he was so confused is because in 1760 due to a lot of political and economic unrest, mainly peasants but a lot a lot of people were moving around France in search of work and new opportunities/conditions. This led to a lot of…shall we say melanging of regional dialects but also a lot of encountering colloquials and variations in language which could make things quite confusion. Encountering many slight variation in pronunciations and meanings can lead to a lot of stumbling and learning on the spot and confusion.

There was also, from the 1600s-1800s ESP a whole lot of France trying to take over neighbor kingdoms/countries. I'm not going to go into the history of the Kingdom of Holland, the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, Switzerland etc.

But suffice to say during this time there was a lot of French and French colloquialisms also melanging with neighboring Germanic languages.

Anyway long story short.

We've got some melanging.

Chene (where's my circumflex hmph) in French means Oak. Biblically Oaks represent strength of faith.

Val in French is Valley

Now.

One interpretation could be a valley, or a drop off, a lessening of faith.

In Dutch. Val means to fall. As in a devastating fall. The kind of fall of an Angel falling to Hell.

Chene can also colloquially/regionally/melangically in France, esp at that time, refer to variations on the words for "Chain" as well as "I don't" or "I'm not."

Which is great because you can turn that into some sort of nod to if you have strength in your faith you won't fall.

Or, it could mean you are connected/linked to someone who did fall.

Or. Also. Either a funny nod to "I didn't really fall..."

I find it interesting symbolism that Aziraphale did not accept that offer of a glass of wine from Crowley. But a somewhat easy refusal that matched those thousands of years of "you are fallen" and we can't be fraternizing because of our "jobs" with the "I'm at work."

It kind of mirrors the FF to me...like "stay here or run away just be with me," and the "I have to 'work' - you go inside / 'I have to work, come with me to Heaven.'

Which. To be honest. It's like. Aziraphale is doing all of this "work" to set up his ball so that he can, ultimately, try to get them out of their debacle with Heaven and Hell and confess his love to Crowley/be with Crowley.

And then he has to go to "work" in Heaven....also, ultimately, so he can stop the Heaven and Hell bullshit and be with Crowley.

But I like the sort of ambiguity of it all. I'm kind of attached to the idea that Crowley offering Aziraphale glass of wine is him offering that link/chain to Him/the fallen.

And even though Aziraphale doesn't take it....because he has things to do....Crowley holds onto it, consumes it, accepts that Aziraphale is being the responsible one trying to fix things, goes on to defend Aziraphale against Jimbriel....not being angry at Aziraphale for taking care of Jim so much as he is angry at the entire situation and taking it out on Jimbriel because Jimbriel represents the establishment, the whole damn Heaven/Hell bullshit, that Aziraphale is still trying to fix. Because let's be real. Crowley is having a hard time handling it/figuring out what to do. Bbygrl is just sitting there drinking. In FF wanting to run away to Alpha Centauri. Aziraphale is the one who's making the hard choice....having to give up the lovely romantic glass of wine dinner date so that he can fix things. Because nobody else is going to do it.

And the fact that he doesn't say 'No' to the glass of wine lmao. Just says "I'm at work." Sort of....I'm not refusing it per se, I'm telling you I have responsibilities / duties now.

Then the FF 'Tell me you said no' and no direct response to that from Aziraphale... Its the same thing. He never says "I don't want to." And I think the implication there is that he doesn't have a choice. Anyway. I'm not great at these. But that's where I got before I had to stop myself from going further down the rabbit holes.

Hi right back at you! 😍 Apologies for the long response time. OMG word nerdery in my inbox?! Is it Christmas?! This is such a treat! *bounces and rubs hands together* Let's do this! Oh, right, yes, snacks, of course! Kitchen's open. You clearly know your way around this blog so you're cleared to go through the fridge & have whatever strikes ya fancy. 😊

I love your thoughts & had fun doing some digging for a response. I've some more to add about word stuff related to oaks and some stuff about the Monsieur Rossignol scene that you might find interesting beneath the wonderful excuse you've given us for a Crowley-at-Marguerite's gif.

re: The French lessons in 1760-- I think you're correct about the melanging being why it's 1760 that Aziraphale chooses for year in this line. What you're talking about with the wild changes of language in the decades prior to that would definitely work with that. It shows the extent of Aziraphale's devotion to learning and making a study of French, in particular, that he took lessons-- and I do believe that he did actually take the lessons, despite what else I'm going to say about that scene.

There's always both the literal and the figurative/euphemistic layers in their speak, just as there is on the show as a whole. There's crepes and then there's crepes and there's sushi and there's sushi and I think the French lessons thing is that there were French classes and then there were French classes. Your melanging is likely why Aziraphale chose 1760 for the line but he's been, erm, making a study of French both long before and for ages since. Aziraphale took French lessons in 1760 but he also went to Monsieur Rossignol's night classes then and I'm pretty sure those are not exactly the same things. 😉

"You speak every language in the world. We both do."

Crowley is basically like: Angel, we both get off on words and speak every language on the planet, including the one we invented and flirt in constantly. Thoughts on why you're seducing me this morning en Francais? To which Aziraphale replies:

As others have pointed out, Rossignol is the French word for nightingale. The famous family of cryptographers who built the secret code that protected French state secrets for generations is the Rossignol family and they are the reason why the word doesn't just mean nightingale in French but also a skeleton key. In Good Omens, one of the skeleton keys to Crowley and Aziraphale's speak and to the use of language in general-- the master keys that unlock the other doors-- is nightingales. I call their speak Ineffable Husbands Speak in posts but nightingales appears to be basically their word for it.

I wrote a thing recently about how Aziraphale is using "Prof Hoff" in wordplay in 1941 to actually be referring to Crowley. I'm inclined to think he's doing the same thing in this scene with Monsieur Rossignol and that his Mr. Nightingale is Crowley. It's also a fun bit of gender-related humor because he refers to him as Monsieur Rossignol and their mentions night classes. 😊 Monsieur, literally translated in French, is also "my lord" and mmm hot blasphemy. As a bonus in there, the word class comes from a homophone to its plural-- the Latin classis-- which, along with the education definition, was a word related to sub-groups of people within ancient Rome.

Aziraphale said he learned "French" from Monsieur Rossignol "the hard way", which is both dirty and sweet, as, yeah, iit's a pretty basic erection joke, but also that hard is etymologically derived from and connected to both heard/to hear and heart. Hard/hear/heart in a sentence using Rossignol/nightingales and the two of them feels like it's referring to their spicy and romantic secret language💗 by way of referring to that time there was some linguistic melanging and Aziraphale really did have to take lessons in actual French-the-language, even as he was also spending some classy evenings frenching his rossignol. Long before frenching also became slang related to open-mouthed kissing, to french was euphemistic for oral sex. Devoted Francophile, the angel is.

re: the wine findings--

One thing I realized in thinking things through to respond to you is that I think we've both been spelling the name of the wine incorrectly. I blew up the gif of Crowley that I put in the top of the post and I think it's actually spelled Chenevel. The good news is that I don't think it actually changes your ideas about the words a lot and might just add a few things to them.

I love how you mentioned that chene (I can't do the accent mark on my Tumblr, either, but I know the word you're talking about) is oak in French. I can add a couple of things to that for you that you might find interesting. I also found oaks in 1941 and have had just this question mark next to it until you mentioned them in your message. That caused me to look at it a bit more and I remembered something interesting about the history of the word that I then confirmed & will put here. First, where the oaks come up in 1941, in case you're interested in that, too. It's in this bit:

When Aziraphale does the coin trick in the bookshop for Crowley, he presents both coins that are part of the trick-- a sixpence and a farthing. This scene is really meta-- Crowley's even making meta roleplaying jokes while roleplaying an audience-- and I had the feeling that some ties to nightingales were happening quite a bit in it so I was looking at the words pretty carefully. I had a hunch that looking at what is on those coins might prove interesting. I'm American and I don't really know a ton about British coin history (I'd wager there are plenty of British people who don't either lol) so I looked up what was on the farthing and the sixpence. The farthing made me smile a bit because it's a wren--the nightingale-wren-- but the sixpence was stumping me a bit for awhile because it was an oak.

I have been all around the block looking at symbolism of oaks and I had really nothing that was super-direct to Good Omens. Even the Biblical ties felt kinda meh. Everything was kind of "yeah, I guess, if you stretch it, that works" but the symbolism in this story is sharper than that so I got to a point where I was even wondering if this is something that is more set up for the future and would be better understood after S3. Then, I remembered the word history thing I'll share as I think it makes the oaks make more sense.

The word oak in Indo-European languages comes from the root base which evolved into the word tree. Basically, in these languages, etymologically, an oak is part of the root word for every kind of tree because it's part of the root word for the word tree itself. In this way, it's very similar to the word apple. A long time ago, people used the word apple kind of in the way that we use the word fruit today and the roots of types of apples and apple itself also contained the Greek word mela, which is also the basis of the word melon. Fruits were described in relation to apples-- so, dates were originally called fingeraeppla, literally: "finger apples", and so on. As a result, the names of a ton of different fruits are etymologically tied to the apple and the same is a bit true of how the word tree ties to the oak.

I did a post awhile back about the word costermonger, which is the old-timey name for a vendor in a street market, and how coster was a kind of apple so the word literally translates to "apple seller", even though, by definition, it refers to a seller of any kind of food in a marketplace. With etymology-based symbolism and the marketplace in S2? This makes all food in Good Omens, effectively, symbolic apples. So, we can apply the idea of the Serpent and the apple to literally everything that can be drunk or eaten in Good Omens and that would include this wine... but what does this have to do with oaks and trees?

It hit me the other day that, if oak = all trees, then the wordplay there has to do with the fact that to fell is the verb used to mean to cut down a tree. To "cut Down (Hell)" is a big part of why Aziraphale is Mr. Fell-- it's that he's Crowley's and de facto married to one of The Fallen and their relationship is felling Hell-- cutting down on its impact. So, the wine being the oak? The chene part of it being the tree? 🌳...

You mentioned that val in Dutch is a bad fall and this is where it both does and doesn't matter that we both spelled this wine incorrectly when we were first looking it up because if the rest is spelled -vel, as seems to be the case? Val and vel are apparently related in Dutch. The Dutch vel is not to fall but part of the origin of the word fell, in as in tree-related definition. Chenevel would then be a kind of mash up of French words forming a version of the English definition of to fell a tree, with the chene part referring to the tree and the vel referring to felling it. Chenevel = Fell. 😲

It's either a massive coincidence or one of them influenced a vineyard to adopt their name back in the day or they own a French winery together or who knows what but I think it's a French version of their name. The bottle is labeled 1938 so whatever happened here with the wine happened prior to that. 🍷💘

So, what might it mean that Aziraphale refuses a glass of the Chenevel wine? I agree with what you said about it being about Crowley offering a connection to him and that it wasn't like Aziraphale didn't want one but that he felt like he was "working." I don't see it as him really working, though, so much as just telling himself he was. Where we differ, I think, is that I actually think that refusing the wine was a bad, if understandable, call on Aziraphale's part. I see connections between Aziraphale refusing the glass of wine and him taking the coffee in the two, different conversations at Marguerite's. There's also that coffee convo at Marguerite's is when the restaurant is closed-- a hint to it not being a genuine offer, imo-- while Crowley is offering Aziraphale wine while being there when it, like Crowley, was open.

We have some different ideas on what's happening in the plot in the end of S2, in that your message indicates you believe that Aziraphale is about to be the Supreme Archangel, while I believe that he was tempted by Satan to fall in 2.06 and is about to be a demon in 3.01. Either way, though, I think he should have had a glass of wine with Crowley and for reasons that I think are in the same spirit of what you're saying-- Aziraphale wants to make things better. I just don't think that a job in Heaven or letting Heaven's actions determine how he lives his life is how he does that.

Crowley isn't completely in the right in S2, either. He's not talking to Aziraphale enough, especially about his Book of Life fears, and he winds up having too much to drink in the Marguerite's scene and after it, but what I don't think he was wrong about was that what would have made them both feel better, especially Aziraphale, and done more to solve what was happening, was for Aziraphale to quit running around tying his every anxiety to one another and building up this party into the meltdown it became but to, instead, sit with Crowley for awhile for a little date at the pretty French place, have a little wine, and talk.

They could see the bookshop door from where they were sitting and Gabriel was fine inside. Aziraphale hadn't been eating or drinking much of anything all week and he and Crowley hadn't had much time alone for days. I think the healthier thing would have been to have a glass of wine and talk. Aziraphale does at least sit down and flirt for a moment or two but he won't have a glass and take some time with Crowley for long enough to really talk about how he was feeling, which I think was what Crowley was going for.

How would this have solved the stuff going on with Heaven?

I think it does because, fundamentally, the only way to change Heaven is to be the change, and that means living life the way they want to, on their own terms. Aziraphale doesn't need to be the Supreme Archangel to change anything-- I'm not sure he actually would ever have the power to in that job. Aziraphale and Crowley making their own life on Earth is how they've already changed things and will continue to do so.

The way to take out the system is to refuse to take part in it. If enough people do, the system will collapse itself. There won't be a war if enough people refuse to fight it. In that way, the way for Aziraphale to deal with Heaven isn't to stress about what they're doing but to just live life. It's very understandable where his anxiety comes from and his concern about the danger but there's nothing he can do to fix it individually except to live the way he wants to because that is actually the most powerful thing anyone can ever do.

It's like dealing with abusive family or a corrupt church. How do you deal with it? You don't go to it anymore. You don't give it your time or your money. To the best of your ability, you don't give it the headspace it doesn't deserve. Instead, you live the way you believe is right. You live the way you want the world to be and try to support others who are doing the same. You keep the door open for those who want to escape and might need help but you keep it closed for those who seek to further oppress. Aziraphale is already saving Heaven. He gave Gabriel sanctuary. He gave Muriel an escape. He's made a life with Crowley that shows others that there is more to life than misery and waiting for war.

Most days, Aziraphale knows this but it's not easy and he's exhausted and depressed and going through all the things in S2 so he goes down a bad path with it but yeah. That's why I think it would have been better had he just sat down and split some Chenevel with Crowley. He became so convinced that he was Managing Heaven Stuff but he was really just spiraling a bit and refusing to let Crowley or anyone else in and it snowballed into disaster.

Aziraphale needs-- just for starters-- a long hug, a great meal, a great fuck, and seventeen straight hours of serpent-cuddled sleep. He'll be a little balmy until those goals are achieved so, probably, until the South Downs Cottage 😂 but, whatever actually happened to him in 2.06, he and Crowley will get back to smitten silliness soon, of that we can be certain. 😊

Thanks for the word fun & feel free to message anytime.

[fishrights69]

My Top 5 GARBAGE fish that suck

Here we go again. After receiving a very high ammount of notes!! (61 UwU) on the last fish list, here's another top 5 no one asked for. I've tried to use the reasoning of ''all fish are good'' but let's be honest, we'd be better off without these. 5. Monkfish🙏

So these things are weird as hell. Their ugliness alone landed them on this list. Not only are they ugly as shit, but they're also mean motherfuckers that eat basically anything. They like to cover themselves in mud and just chill there until something crosses their path which imo is fucking lazy. Some people do eat them as a delicacy apparently(ew?). Props to them for getting over the looks. Ugly/10 5/10 for laziness 4.Hairy Frog Fish���‍♀️

If you wonder wtf are you looking at, this fish is the living embodiment of that feeling you get when you find hair in your food. This girlie loves to swallow as it's mouth can open to make space for fish almost twice her size so don't go sitting too close 💦 Still, it doesn't take away from the fact that she looks like a mistake. 4/10 appearance 8/10 for the deep throating skills 3. Goblin Shark 👺

First of all, these sharks look like if someone designed a fish based on a child's drawing of a shark. Instead of going the terrifying route and choosing one of these pictures, I opted for a derpy yet still creepy photo. Besides being quite good at ambushing prey, these dudes still tend to eat man made garbage which further argues their position on ''the garbage fish top5™''. They also are basically living fossils since they're old af and most of their body is atrophied. 3/10 appearance 6/10 for still living so long despite everything.

2.Bony-Eared Assfish🍑

This fish is for all ass obsessed fuckers. Grilling this baby and enjoying it counts as eating ass. Some cool facts about him: -The bony-eared assfish has the smallest brain-to-body weight ratio out of all vertebrates. -Assfish are soft and flabby with a light skeleton (so like a real ass) As for personality, they are not what I'd call assholes. They are quite sluggish as they prefer to sort of flap around with short bursts of energy instead of swim. They don't do much besides that which makes them a very underwhelming fish despite the sexy name :( Apparently they were given this name to make up for how utterly boring they are. 2/10 appearance 1/10 Interest in them or what they are good for (spoiler, nothing)

If you're a fish enthusiast, you probably know what's coming at nr.1 🥁 🥁 1. Ocean Sunfish☀️

There are far, faar too many reasons for this fish to be on the first spot. Not only are they the dumbest fish in the whole world, but they also are not good swimmers AT ALL (wtf is with these poorly designed fish who cannot swim??). Scientists are still perplexed at how this fish continues to stay alive. If you want more shitty facts about them, here's a link to a very famous post trashing these bitches. BUT, I have my very own reason to hate the sunfish. One cursed morning, I decided to go get educated about animals and visit Naturalis, a museum in Leiden, The Netherlands. I was having a blast looking at all the beautiful animals showcased, along with the cool facts and atmosphere. I excitedly get to the aquatic creatures floor and mesmerised, I try to take in all the beauty. At the long corridor nearing the exit, I look around admiring the fish that were displayed. Thinking I had seen it all, I move further when I turn a corner and out of nowhere.. . . . . . . . BAM

this GIANT motherfucker, hidden in a corner makes it's presence known. I'm not kidding when I say this thing is huge. Here's a picture of the replica from another angle for size reference. As you can guess, I was legit extremely spooked and actually screamed. :( 0/10 appearence 0/10 fuck this thing. useless and it gave me a heart attack

BONUS: I'm sorry but I think I've tortured myself and you enough, so to make up for it, here's a cute fishy instead: (take him)

Alright thanks for reading and follow for more fish content. Suggest me some more top5's I could do, be it fish related, or whatever your mind decides to curse me with. Still need to cleanse yours eyes? My top 5 coolest fish

[chaosfairy18]

Spelling lessons

A short (2k) fic with the idea that I posted recently of Dutchy not being able to understand English spelling (and being annoyed about it) and then accepting some help from Specs

It has some Decs (DutchyxSpecs) at the end because it was too cute not to (Also Dutchy's name is Zacharias and Specs' Victor, there is only a small scene that is relevant, but it can't hurt to say)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

English spelling might be Dutchy‘s nemesis actually.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t write, he’d learned back in elementary school in the Netherlands, he knew the alphabet, thank you very much, and he also knew how to speak German – they lived close to the border – and even read most of it because it just looked similar, he could at least guess the meaning if he had to and since he knew how to speak it, it wasn’t too difficult to grasp reading or writing, all in all.

French was harder, but since there had been some people speaking French in his little town, he’d also learned speaking that.

He might have been an annoying kid, always hanging on their lips and asking for more words, more things to learn, but it was just too interesting to him.

Now he couldn’t really write much in French, he’d learnt a bit back then, but it wasn’t enough, not really.

Then he’d gone on that ship to America with his aunt and uncle. The time they had took to get to America was more than enough to grasp the basics of English, especially due to its similarities to French, Dutch and German. The men and women Dutchy had spent every day learning the language from mostly hadn’t been able to read though, and it wasn’t like he had to learn that. He knew how to read, it couldn’t be that hard.

After being basically ditched by his aunt and uncle he’d quickly found the lodging house – after all he had learnt the language and could ask around where a boy with some money could find work or a place to stay – and Kloppman hadn’t believed he was only there for less than a day, though he was even more impressed when he correctly guessed his accent and started talking in German which was still easier than English though it wouldn’t take long until he didn’t care what he spoke.

Now all that was well and good if it weren’t for the fact that he had to sell newspapers that had headlines. See, these newspapers were sometimes available in Dutch or German, but of course most were in English and for some reason the Americans or the Brits had decided to make their spelling the most confusing thing in existence. If he heard one of the other newsies say the headline, he knew exactly what it meant, but combining that with the letters he saw on the board? It felt impossible, even now.

Maybe it was his pride in knowing languages that kept him from asking anyone for help, maybe it was that he avoided the language classes in the lodge and instead took the ones on math, but at this point he was almost dead set to not comply with this idiotic spelling in newspapers.

That didn’t mean he could read the headline any better.

“What’s it say?”, he asked Skittery, pretending he was just cleaning his glasses and therefore couldn’t see it right now.

Skittery, who had been reading a novel of some kind as he was standing in line scoffed and snapped his book shut, obviously annoyed. “It says ‘learn to read, idiot’.”

Dutchy froze as he was just about to put on his glasses again. What had he just called him? He could read, in two (and a half) languages even, he could even write and speak more languages than Skittery could probably name, and he dared call him an idiot-

“Says the guy that fell into the river last week.”, interrupted Specs, subtly pushing Dutchy away from Skittery before he really could let the situation escalate and call Skittery names in 4 different languages and whatever else he had picked up over the years.

“That don’t make me an idiot, clumsy maybe. And I got shoved.”

The tall boy quickly got engrossed in his novel again, only looking up if Tumbler was running around him, otherwise ignoring them.

“You aren’t an idiot.”, was the first thing Specs said to him, all quiet as if it was a secret.

“I know. It’s not my fault English is so-“

“You can’t keep not learnin’ because you don’t want to, Dutch.” Specs pushed his hands in his pant pockets. “I could help you, if you want.”

Dutchy’s first instinct was to bite back that he didn’t need help, but maybe he did. And Specs was his closest friend, it wasn’t like he was making fun of him. “If you’re offerin’.”

“You could read books if you learnt. Spoil the ends for Skitts.”

He snorted, hitting Specs with his elbow. “You’ve seen me read books.”

“Not in English.”

“Fine. I’ll let you help.”

They got their papes from Wiesel – every day Dutchy had to bite back a comment on it was actually Weasel because he knew how to read that word – and split up to sell, Specs saying he’d come by later to start their ‘lessons’.

Of course, Specs had to keep his word, one unsold pape and a book in hand, bowler hat and vest already discarded somewhere in the bunk room. He wouldn’t get out of it then.

Shame.

Dutchy let himself be dragged to the roof, the evening sun making the temperatures comfortably warm rather than sweltering. Specs dragged some crates to the middle of the roof, and they sat down around them, the newspaper and book placed on them.

“So, you can read the alphabet fine, right? That’s the same.”

“Again: You’ve seen me read a book and write my name.”

Specs rolled his eyes. “Yes, just wanted to make sure.” He opened up the first article of the World. “Maybe it’ll help if I read it to you. You know the words, then you’ll see the spelling as I say it.”

Shrugging, he moved a bit closer to Specs so he could properly see the line he had his finger under to indicate what he was reading. He didn’t want help like this, but since at a first glance he could only read the shorter words in the article he probably did need it.

Sadly.

“Man with parachute leaps from Brooklyn Bridge-“

“Wait that’s how you spell bridge? Where is the e coming from?” He could live with silent letters, at least if there was an explanation for them.

Specs pinched the bridge of his nose. “I dunno the rules, Zach. Just- read with me, okay?”

The rest of the article was interesting enough – the man had used a modified umbrella to jump of the bridge and had only barely survived – but Dutchy wasn’t sure how much he was learning yet. Some words he knew and recognized, others he was completely stunned as to where that spelling could come from and if he could remember them.

“I don’t think it’s working.”, he sighed after the third article.

“We just started today. Rome wasn’t built in a day and all’at.”

Dutchy bit back his retort and just kept listening to Specs read, trying to recognize words he’d heard today before.

Of course, the lessons didn’t stop after a day. Contrary to what Dutchy had hoped for, Specs was very good at remembering it every evening and dragging him to the rooftop, going through more articles or through a chapter of a book.

And even worse: He had to admit it was working.

Especially in papes there were headlines that came again and again, so he recognized almost everything on the chalkboard every morning now, there were just a few words that he had to quietly ask Specs about.

That also meant that he began to slack a bit in their lessons. It was working, but he didn’t like admitting to being wrong, so he still sat there – he was Specs’ friend after all and he was going through a lot of trouble to teach him – but he wasn’t listening to his every word anymore, instead looking up to see his dark eyes trace the words and his mouth open again and again.

At first it wasn’t that intense, just looking at his friend a bit before going back to the tiny black words, but the more he looked at him, the more he had to admit that he was fascinating to watch. His eyes were dark, even in the light, pupil and iris not much different in colour, almost as dark as the coffee they got from the nuns in the morning when they were lucky.

Specs didn’t seem to notice whenever he wasn’t paying attention, so it happened more and more over the days.

And not just in their lessons either. Dutchy’s gaze was drifting to Specs more and more frequently while selling, eating in the lodge, standing in line at the distribution centre and when they got ready for the day in the morning.

As already stated, Dutchy wasn’t an idiot, there weren’t a lot of reasons why he would be drawn to his friend so much. It was obvious, really, and the last few lessons he had spent his time half listening to Specs – he always looked so sad if Dutchy didn’t get any of the words they already went over – and half planning to show his affections to him.

Reading out loud a chapter of one of the few romance books they had down in the lodge didn’t work – Specs was only happy that he had gotten through it with almost no stumbling over words – and the extra touches while selling together didn’t seem to work either.

Maybe he’d just have to be direct about it.

The next evening they sat on the rooftop of the lodge again and Dutchy let Specs talk a bit, attempting to explain why a specific word was spelt how it was – because of course after Dutchy complained that he didn’t get the rules he had looked them up and asked Kloppman because he was invested into helping his friends like that – and only getting distracted by the way his lips moved and his eyes shone just a bit brighter than usual.

It seemed as good a time as any.

Dutchy made Specs trail off by tilting his friend’s chin up with his finger and leaning in close. “Maybe for today I can teach you something, Victor.”

The other’s eyes grew wide and taking his quickly reddening face as confirmation Dutchy kissed him for a short moment, smiling as Specs chased after his lips just a bit when he leaned back.

“So you’re okay with that?”

“Very.”, croaked out Specs, still not completely convinced this was actually happening.

Smiling wider, Dutchy pulled his glasses off – he’d felt them press into each other uncomfortably in the first brief kiss – and leaned in again, just trying out how Specs’ lips felt against his, how it felt like to hold his jaw as he did so, how he reacted when he moved his hair out of his face.

Everything was as good as he’d thought, Specs also getting more comfortable throughout the minutes, he almost wasn’t burning red anymore when they separated again, Dutchy leaning his forehead against Specs’.

“Hope you liked the lesson.”, he whispered, glad he’d begrudgingly accepted the offer for spelling lessons weeks ago.

Specs looked at him like he’d just taught him all the secrets of the universe. “Yeah. I’d love more. Only if you-“

He gave him a peck on the cheek. “Of course, darling.”

That made Specs burn up again, putting his head in his hands and groaning. “You can’t just say that!”

“I can call you whatever I want, darling.”

Specs curled even more in on himself, ears completely red. “Stooop.”

Laughing more about his friend’s state, Dutchy leaned in closer and put an arm around his waist, closing his eyes and enjoying the heat of the evening sun and his new partner next to him.