#Spanish flavor

[colorpalettebyrm]

#b76b41 #f8e6c4 #e3ad82 #8fa6b3 #4c1403 #784a38 #016bfb #dd7923 #e79c4f #b03607

[jadenvargen]

posted this on twit but rejected draft for a transgender horror anthology. based on my youth experiences having dinners with bigoted family members while closeted. (deemed too gorey to fit the theme)

[psychologeek]

Teaser on chapter 24!

Bc I loved it, and I think you would as well.

Edit: please, please let me know what do you think about this. Comments, #, rb - all goes.

If any of my followers is fluent in Arabic, I would highly appreciate it if you take a look and lmk what you think. Translating idioms is HARD.

Idioms I used/referenced to in chapter:

You play with cats, you find the talons - thousand words.

اللي بدو يلعب مع القط بدو يلقى خراميشه

Literal translation: Whoever plays with a cat will find his claws.

English equivalent: If you play with fire, you’re going to get burned.

Whoever has a head wound keeps feeling it

(I also considered "a book knows its reader" - which suits better to Jason, but is an Egyptian proverb, afaik.)

Darbk 'akhdar

دَرْبك أخضر Lit. Your path is green.

Guan Tang Bao Zi - a dish from Keifung.

Anyway -fic!

That was a good day, he remembers. Father had been away on some mission with the Kryptonian and the warrior. Mother had taken him to an old restaurant, where no one knew them. Where they were just a mother and her son, eating and talking about school or football or whatever American kids talk about. Mother had then proceeded to ensure he hadn't lost any of his fighting skills. He had gotten to keep the dagger he gained in the battle. Yes, he knows she’d let him take it. That's irrelevant. Mother is a mighty warrior, and there is no shame in losing to her. They ate dinner at a Chinese place. They even had proper Guan Tang Bao Zi, served with a spoon, like Mother used to eat as a child. He can almost taste the sugared pear he ordered as a dessert. But every good thing must come to an end. 

And as they exit the restaurant, Mother takes him to an alley. There's someone already waiting there, sitting on his motorbike with his helmet on, one hand typing so.ething on his phone.  “Kiif kaan?” how it's been?  Mother asks as they approach the cyclist. “Tamam,” the man replies, distracted. fine. “Kiif zakhtak?” Mother asks.  How do you feel?  “Tamam,” the man's still focused on his phone. “Wa sahiblk?” Mother doesn't let go. and your friends? “Tamam, yā mama,” he finally put away the phone. “Kulu tamam. lā taqlluqī.” His voice is both irritated and loving as he finally turns to look at them taking off his black helmet, he smiles at mother. Fine, mom, everything's ok. Don't worry. “What will I do with you, Asfuri?” She mumbles, letting out a long sigh. “You kids and your phones.” “Hi–!” The man's mouth opens in an offended scream, but mother easily disarms him. “You are late, Ayuni,” she kisses his forehead. “I almost thought you were caught.” “As if,” the man rolls his eyes at her. “They wish. You taught me well.” “You play with cats, you find the talons,” she warns him fiercely. “I wasn't –” “How many explosions, uh? How many more then you really needed?” The man sighs. “How did you know?” “Whoever has a head wound keeps feeling it,” she reminds him. “You keep looking at your phone to see if it made it to the news yet.” “I'm sorry,” the man says. “I almost failed you. It won't happen again.” “Make sure it doesn't,” Mother is certain. “I will not lose you to such low-life creatures.” But her face are soft as she looks at Damian's brother. “Rukhi“ she kisses his right cheek. My soul “Mi Alma,” she finally kisses his left cheek. Jinsu's face is an interesting color. Almost as red as his war helmet, Damian notices. Mother takes a deep breath, and faces back at Damian.  “Yalla, Habibi,” she holds him. “It’s time to go.” (And if his arms hold her tightly, and his fists are closed behind her back– if he breathsher for nearly a minute, there's no one around to say anything about it. Except for Jinsu, but he'll never tell.) “Darbk 'akhdar, Galbi,” Mother says as she picks him up and helps him up the motorcycle. Travel safely, my heart. (He can do it alone, but her arms are soft and warm and long missed. He lets her help him.) "aetni bi'akhik, ya ibni,” she says. Take care of your brother, my son. “Dayamin,” they both reply. Always. (Damian doesn't look back as his brother takes them away from their mother.)

[ogdit]

You know, it's been years now, and I still follow a few blogs that post for thr fandom... I need the last few remaining fans to know: anyone that popularized the last name "McClain" for Lance, I need you to jump into a boiling pool and you can never get out.

Maybe look up Cuban last names??? And don't use any of the first 10 results??? Do your fucking research??? Look up how Cuban last names work, maybe??? Don't just settle for the whitest last name to fucking exist, and call it a day????

It works similarly in mexico, First name, maybe middle name, sometimes third name if your parents are feeling a bit quirky, then Paternal lastname Maternal lastname. Maybe! Maybe he's mixed! A mexican parent and a Cuban parent! A Brazilian parent and a Cuban parent! Maybe!!! He's even part native! But I don't trust white fans with native characters. Learn to behave and maybe we'll trust you with native characters.

Just. Stop it with McClain.

IF YOU ARE WHITE, YOU CAN REBLOG BUT IF YOU TRY TO START SHIT I WILL BLOCK YOU!!!!!

IF you are latine, specifically Cuban, feel free to add your own thoughts on this matter

[pokemonheadcanons]

Headcanon #753

The Treasures of Ruin cause so much destruction because they’re enraged about being stolen from their home region by the Paldean Empire in the 17th century.

[hooked-on-elvis]

Who makes my heart beat like thunder? Who makes my temperature rise? Who makes me tremble with wonderful rapture With one burning glance, from her eyes Marguerita... Once I was free as a gypsy A creature too wild to tame Then suddenly I saw, Marguerita And I was caught, like a moth in the flame Marguerita...is her name Marguerita... Her lips have made me her prisoner A slave to her every command She captivates me, and intoxicates me With one little touch of her hand Marguerita... Sweet... Marguerita... sweet, sweet Marguerita.

Lyrics by Don Robertson

[meimi-haneoka]

Every time I see the English translation of a certain Clear Card panel with Touyuki appearing on my TL I want to pull my hair because that line was mistranslated so, so badly and people are making speculations and going nuts about it in the tags and it's all based on something that doesn't exists because that's not what Touya says, not at all. Like, not even remotely. It's also so out of character for him to say something like that, I don't know how his fans don't realize something is off in that line.

One day I will compile those translation mistakes in one giant google sheet or something, I need to turn this into a mission because it's honestly so irritating to see how riddled with mistakes this localization is, sometimes to the point of messing with important parts of the plot. I don't see them releasing a decently translated edition in the near future, so it's all I can do to give back some respect to the story. Clamp are aware of the translation mistakes and how they change the perception of the story for the foreign readers, just as they are aware of the posts I've made about them over the years (they talked about this in a Space long time ago, and I still cherish that mention in my heart with pride). But there was basically nothing they could do at the time, if not suggesting the English readers to check the posts mentioning the translation differences. That's great and all, I'm glad I have their blessing but this is also not really how ideally one should read a story. My posts are long and filled with personal comments and maybe that would deter many people from checking out what a certain line actually says, so I need to find a quicker and easier way. Also, I started to do those only from chapter 40 onwards (and in the beginning I was way overzealous, I would need to revise) and this panel I'm mentioning above is part of the butchery they did in the first volumes, which weren't covered by my posts yet.

[muwitch]

Miguel🤝Michael

hating being called Mike

[wordsinhaled]

The Terror is visually stunning and incredibly well-told but you definitely need to be a Horror Enjoyer to get through it let alone enjoy it. Highly rec if you are a Horror Enjoyer though! Spectacular cast of veteran actors who are actually good at what they do, too.

i am definitely a horror enjoyer! will i be okay if i've seen all the core seasons of AHS, enjoyed a college class on spanish-language horror film, and enjoyed-slash-survived the fall of the house of usher? did

[royalarchivist]

Phil: Chat why are we spamming flags? [Laughs] I'm not gay or bi. I appreciate- I appreciate the potential support, but I'm neither of those things. It's just me and Fit fcking around. It's just- [Laughs] It's literally just me and Fit fcking around.

Is it Foolish? Is Foolish saying s- ohhh what is happening, hold on. [Checks in-game chat] No it's not Foolish, you're just saying things. I'm just an ally, Chat. I'm just an ally. I'm just very comfortable with my sexuality. Jesus Christ.

Ope, flowers. Boop de boop!

[orcelito]

Came up with a last name for my new dnd character hehehe

Ceferino Martín... it has a certain cadence to it, I think.

[asheanon]

Vincent Valentine running a tea shop.

— For @/Carendsyaz1 (on Twitter)

From: Ask Box Writing Prompt Game

📖 It's Tea Story Time...

At low volume, a strangely familiar tune can be heard playing from within. Though soft and slightly somber, there was something almost bewitching about its sound. For those who felt themselves inquisitive enough to stop by or simply take a little peek inside, the melody often served to pull them in. And if it wasn't enough to keep them there, then another provocation of the senses surely would.

While the space wasn't necessarily sizeable, it was made good use of. The interior was largely cast in black, embellished with mahogany trim and other forms of furniture and decor. Rows of shelves lined the walls - all of which were lined themselves with boxes and tins containing loose leaf tea blends. In one corner, what could best be described as "Victorian Gothic-esque" tea sets were made available with respective displays. In another, a variety of delectable baked goods could be found. It was sleek, elegant and dark. Pardoning some splashes of color, at least.

A modest collection of carmine roses and other fair forms of flower were scattered about and presented daintily, accenting the shelves and countertops. While these floral arrangements were far from abundant, oddly, their fragrance seemed to prove stronger than their number. It dared to puzzle you. Before your curiosity got the better of you, however, a door behind the counter opened.

A gentleman with long raven hair, partly obscured by a headband of a similar shade, emerged with a tray in hand. Following him, a wave of an even stronger rendition of the botanical scent wafted towards you. With a lean figure complimented by a cobalt dress shirt and black dress pants, it was soon made apparent to you... He was tall, dark and... well... he was a pretty handsome fellow too. Had it not been for the metallic shimmer of his silver tray, golden arm and rather pallid complexion, he threatened to blend right into the walls. What's that? Golden arm? Why, but of course!

Donned upon his left arm was a metal gauntlet bearing a golden sheen - large, clawed and unlike anything you had ever seen an employee in your local area wear. Its peculiarity begot intrigue.

He carefully sat the tray down upon the furthest counter, retrieving a pinch of something red, then another of something violet, dropping them both into a small metal infuser. It was then that he noticed he was no longer alone.

"Welcome." He offered a simple greeting. A moment was spared as an electric kettle was given power before he turned to face you. You were met with dark crimson eyes.

For whatever reason, you felt oddly compelled to purchase a lemon raspberry scone in particular... this same compulsion drove you to remark on the "heavenly aroma" just as well. And, as was made evident, there appeared to be a tea in the making right before your very eyes... so, naturally, one would only speculate what manner of tea it could it be, right? Right! Between the redolence and an innate sense of wonder, understandably, you found yourself pressed enough to ask about it.

Logging your order, the man then offered you a subtle nod and an even subtler smile. One that was easily missed. He retrieved a box from nearby, handing it off to you with the assurance it was a similar blend. It was titled "Rose On The Grey."

Clearly, it contained flowers; rose petals and lavender blossoms deemed safe for consumption, but it also bore black tea layered with hints of vanilla and bergamot. In essence, it was a blend of traditional Earl Grey with mostly floral additions.

"Goes well with cream and sugar." He added.

As you seemed preoccupied enough via examining the tea box's contents, he excused himself a moment more, tending to the now well heated kettle. He placed the infuser into a decorative black teacup, moderately gilded. It was one of two, now.

"Would you like a sample?"

Uh, yes. You would like a sample. In fact, when he inquired whether or not you would like any additives, you insisted that it be prepared the way he would personally prepare it. To your delight, he was willing to oblige.

The lull in time placed between the present and preparing two teacups worth of specialty tea felt to pass by effortlessly. A small, intricate table made for two beckoned you over. You took a seat with your scone and the box of tea that was not quite yours (yet,) but you felt compelled to let it accompany you nonetheless. Additional details within the shop catered to the eye as you waited.

"Here." Eventually, an elegant little cup of piping hot tea was presented to you, complete with the recommended amounts of both cream and sugar. Despite the somewhat impassive fashion in which it was bestowed upon you, you can tell it was made with love. Your intuition told you so.

Lightly blowing at the steam, you boldly went in for a sip - only to be stopped with a small "mm-mm." He had his back turned to you, returning to the counter. Had he heard you? How did he know?

The man insisted that you wait just a minute or two more, lest you burn your tongue. It was as if stories of visiting tea-samplers previous to you told themselves in the way he handled the situation. Fine, you would wait...

... But when you were done waiting, it was all yours. The revered first sip of the dark, mysterious shopkeeper's tea - of which seemed just as dark and mysterious, yet sweet as he.

[jesusbutbetterrr]

12 for the ask game :3

~Yami

12: if you could be fluent in any language which one would it be?

Ideally Mexican Spanish, since the one person who should have taught me didnt. 🙃🙃🙃

But aside from that, Latin.

[princessflaw]

fucking hate that 'Spanish' means south American in the US (???). Trying to find a store that sells Spanish (from Spain) products is a pain

[fieriframes]

[The seasoning from the -- from the chorizo. That's a lot of flavor. In essence, it's Spanish soul food. Bueno? -Delicious. -Unbelievable.]

[lazitoelgato]

MUNE-ATSU🔥

That's it, that's the post.