#and i can nerd out over old english/middle english any day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

slaviclore · 1 year ago

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thanks to everyone who responded to last week's translation challenge (which you can see here, or under the cut below)! All your answers have been really fantastic and useful. 303 people voted, of which 119 are Polish speakers. I tallied up the votes from the Polish speakers (i changed your vote if u expressed regret in the tags after voting), and I summarize under the cut the various takes on this question and add my 2 cents (or possibly more like 2 dollars, as this is a Long Post). Read on to learn some things about the Polish language and Chopin history. :]

context again:

This is the opening sentence of a letter written by Fryderyk Chopin (who I'll refer to as FC for convenience) to his friend and/or boyfriend Tytus Woyciechowski (TW) in 1829. He's 19/20 years old (we're not sure about his DOB), and he's been spending some time with Prince Antoni Radziwiłł and his family at their palace in Antonin (near Poznań). Radziwiłł is a huge music nerd, and Chopin is having a great time over there. The mood of the letter is mostly positive and upbeat, and you can probably expect him to be at his cheekiest.

There are 3 published English translations of this letter, which I included as options in the poll. None of the 3 professional translators are native Polish speakers. They are: EL Voynich (option 1), David Frick (option 2), and Arthur Hedley (option 4). Option 3 is my own take on the translation (I am a native Polish speaker but not a professional translator).

why is this important?

1) it's an interesting grammar problem where the combination of a referred statement (FC is summarizing what TW said), a command, and a reflexive (się) makes it unclear who is to kiss who. Can we figure out what TW's original statement was based on how FC referred to it? Did he say some version of "kiss me", or "kiss yourself", or something else?

2) We have 22 letters from FC to TW, but we don't have any from TW to FC, so it's useful to piece together the way he may have written to him -- especially since we're not sure what their relationship actually was.

3) FC has a habit of teasing TW for not liking to be kissed, which historians have taken a bit too seriously, if you ask me -- this was some inside joke between the two of them. But if this short exchange was part of that joke, it gives us a chance to understand them a little better.

4) Arthur Hedley was a prominent Chopin scholar in the 20th century. His translations are the ones that are usually quoted to this day, and the choices he made in his translations and biographies have had a huge impact on the field. Some were good choices, and some were bad. Today, he's a controversial figure. I don't think he can be dismissed or blindly trusted, but rather critiqued point by point... we can take on one such point here.

The full original sentence from Chopin's November 14 1829 letter:

Ostatni twój list, w którym mi każesz się ucałować, odebrałem w Antoninie u Radziwiłła.

here's some definitions:

Ostatni twój list -- your last letter

w którym -- in which

każesz -- a command word in the second person present tense: you tell/you command

ucałować -- to kiss

mi -- me

się -- a reflexive to indicate the self, non-specific for gender or person (can be me, you, him her, etc)

odebrałem -- I received/I picked up; first person past tense

The main issues of this translation are:

the order of the 3 phrases (separated by 2 commas)

word choice, especially what to call the kiss

word order of the middle phrase, i.e., who is to kiss who

Several of you mentioned that this sentence is weird. Yeah. Sigh. Unfortunately, Chopin is very dead and has made that everyone's problem. No one specified why it's weird, but I guessed that it's the order of "mi" and the reflexive "się" in the middle phrase, so I asked you in a separate poll if another order would be better. 25 people voted on that one, of which just over half were Polish speakers. No one said that the sentence was weird for some other reason, which explains why the available translations could not agree on how to interpret the directionality of the commanded action (who is to kiss who). Voters were also split pretty evenly among those who preferred an alternative word order (especially "...w którym każesz mi się ucałować..."), and those who said that there's nothing wrong with the sentence or that changing it would change the intended meaning even if it does sound better. I therefore propose that we give Chopin the benefit of the doubt and assume that he said what he meant to say, even if it was awkward.

Some poll responders were not concerned about the kiss at all, and focused almost entirely on the order of the phrases in the sentence. They argued that starting the sentence with the "I received" fragment rather than the "Your last letter" fragment shifts the emphasis away from the location (Antonin), which is the main point of the sentence, and that the kiss is only a secondary point. Those who mentioned the kiss agreed that calling it anything but a kiss is not helpful, but the second most popular translation was the only one that replaced this word. Arthur Hedley's preservation of the sentence order, and maybe his dampening of the kiss subject, is likely what earned him second place -- 20 people voted for this translation (option 4), or 16.8% of the Polish-speaking voters.

Arthur Hedley, Selected Correspondence of Fryderyk Chopin (1962), pg 36:

Your last letter, in which you send me your warmest greetings, reached me at Radziwill's place at Antonin.

Kisses are thrown around left and right in Chopin's letters, regardless of who is writing or receiving them (friends, family, any informal context). While "ucałować" is literally "to kiss", Hedley's goal was probably to remove the ambiguity with which a kiss might be interpreted by an English-speaking audience and instead give you (the suspiciously British) "warmest greetings". This is something he did regularly in his translations and has made himself rather unpopular for it. Even if he is basically correct and the fundamental goal of the kiss is just to offer a warm greeting, replacing the word removes your ability to make the following 2 arguments, should you choose to do so:

Though a kiss is indeed a common greeting/sign-off, when FC refers to the **whole letter** as the one where you tell me to kiss you(/myself/send me a kiss), this creates emphasis not generally afforded to greetings and sign-offs. Presumably, TW wrote other stuff in that letter (if he literally only wrote "kiss me" and nothing else, holy shit i'd have fainted) -- but FC has relegated the rest of the letter as less important than the kiss, even if TW himself didn't give that bit a second thought. It's like if Harry wrote you a whole email with a bunch of stuff in it and signed off with "love, Harry", and then you wrote back, "Harry, i got your email where you say you love me". I'm not going to argue whether this is flirting or not, but I hope you see how it might be.

(watermelon sugar is playing as I write this, but u can have any harry u want in this simulation)

FC's emphasis may also be a reference to whatever inside joke these two seem to have that makes him insist (in other letters) that TW doesn't like to be kissed. So FC's intention may be the very troll-like: i got your letter where you tell me to kiss you(/send me a kiss) but i **thought** you don't like kisses?? interesting!!??

🤔🤔🤔

Either way, Hedley robs us of the TW eye-roll we deserve, so I think he blew it on this one, even if similar choices worked well in other contexts.

For me, the main difficulty in the translation was whether TW's original command was "kiss me/give me a kiss" or "kiss yourself/give yourself a kiss", with FC's rephrasing therefore being either "...to kiss you" or "...to kiss myself", respectively. So who gets this imaginary kiss? TW or FC? and which of them is supposed to give it? David Frick takes the most ruthless route to this answer (option 2), and 17 of you agreed with him, or 14.3% of the Polish-speaking voters, giving him 3rd place.

David Frick, Chopin's Polish Letters (2016), pg. 143:

I received your last letter, in which you tell me to give myself a kiss, in Antonin at Radziwiłł's.

Some of you said that this is the most grammatical choice -- while others brought up the very valid point that... why would anyone be told to kiss themselves? and how does one go about doing that?? Maybe Frick imagined TW's original command as something along the lines of: since I'm not there, give yourself a kiss for me.

I think this is a good take, even if FC made it weird and Frick refused to save him from his own grammar. In a stark contrast to Hedley's method, Frick tends to stay close to Chopin's wording and syntax. Though I do find some over-interpretation in Frick's translations and annotations, some of which I think is incorrect, his translations are very good, and I defer to his choices unless I have a good reason not to.

One poll responder brought up the alternative interpretation that actually TW's original statement was hostile. After I read Frick's translation, this did also cross my mind, and I imagined the exchange as something like this:

FC: kiss me

TW: oh ffs, kiss yourself

FC: i got the letter where you tell me to kiss myself

😔😔😔

hilarious. If TW really is as allergic to being kissed as FC insists, this interpretation is a viable option. Unfortunately for my personal amusement, I don't think he's really so allergic to it. Also, if this were the case, I would expect FC to emphasize "himself" with something like 'sam się ucałowac'. Here "sam" is a type of "self" you use to say you're doing it (by) yourself/oneself.

In this scene from Borat 2 (with which I have a conflicted emotional relationship that belongs in a different post, but I did laugh my ass off at this scene) Borat's daughter says, in reference to the monkey that was dead in the crate (in their fake language that mixes Hebrew, Slavic and Near and Middle Eastern languages), something like "sam się zjad" which is probably meant to be a Slavic "he ate himself", when it was clearly she who ate the monkey:

youtube

I think the commenter had something even harsher in mind for the interpretation of TW's letter, though, like where kiss yourself is a euphemism for fuck yourself. I don't know how people told each other to fuck off in 19th century Poland, but now I'm desperate to find out. Dearest Tytus, your last letter, in which you tell me to go fuck myself, I received in Antonin...

oh my lord this is sending me. I suspect this Bieber-esque usage is modern though, but I'm not sure! Either way, the rest of FC's letter is very affectionate so it doesn't seem super likely that he just got told to fuck off, unless he absolutely cannot take even a single hint

Since FC frequently signs off his letters with kiss me/give me a kiss, it's reasonable that TW might do the same. My translation was option 3, which keeps the structure of the sentence and assumes that FC's rewording is meant to say "kiss you/give you a kiss". This was the most popular option, with 68 votes or 57.1% of the Polish-speaking voters.

Me, tumblr, 2023:

Your last letter, in which you tell me to kiss you, I received in Antonin at Radziwiłł's.

I can't tell if Frick's "kiss myself" or my "kiss you" is the more grammatical interpretation -- if u have an answer for this from the depths of Polish grammar, I'd love to see it. But! I think it doesn't really matter! Since this is a personal letter, all we can safely assume is that FC is being rational, not necessarily that he's being fully grammatical.

On my first reading of the letter, I didn't consider Frick's "kiss myself" possibility at all. I just assumed it was "kiss you", and some of you echoed that sentiment. After I read the published translations, I ran the sentence through google translate (the least reliable of all our translators but still useful for comparisons), which agreed with me. As GT is trained on modern content, I was concerned my translation may be a modern artifact... which may also explain why many of you voted for it -- the professional translators may have simply known better.

I wondered if I could find historical precedent for this sentence structure being used to refer to the giver of the command (kiss TW) rather than the one being commanded (kiss FC). I found this in a prayer called "Litania o Milosci Bozej" or "Litany about God's Love". here is a fragment with the relevant grammar in bold:

Boże, któryś mnie sam wprzód umiłował, zmiłuj się nad nami.

Boże, który mi każesz się miłować, zmiłuj się nad nami.

My translation:

God, you who loved me first, have mercy on us.

God, you who commands me to love you, have mercy on us.

I haven't been in a church in a thousand years, so someone who goes to Polish church, pls tell me if I'm getting this wrong. Here, God commands the individual saying the prayer to love Him (not to "love yourself"). The grammar is the same as in FC's sentence. The last word is the specific verb (love for the prayer, kiss for Chopin), 'każesz' is 'you command/tell', 'mi' is 'me', and 'się' is the reflexive:

the prayer: który mi każesz się miłować

-- you who commands me to love you

chopin: w którym mi każesz się ucałować

-- in which you tell me to kiss you

I don't know how old this prayer is or how long it's used this specific wording, but I found a version of it from the early 20th century -- it might be a lot older. While this doesn't tell you what FC meant in his letter, it does offer precedent for the "kiss you" translation and argues that TW having asked for a kiss is, at least, a viable take that's not necessarily modern.

EL Voynich, Chopin's Letters (1931), pg 73:

I received your last letter, in which you send me a kiss, at Antonin, at the Radziwiłłs'.

Though it may not seem like it, Ethel Voynich's translation (option 1) actually comes to the same conclusion as Frick's -- Voynich was first by 80 years, tho, and the first person to translate Chopin's letters into English -- but she got the fewest votes: only 14, which is 11.8% of the Polish-speaking votes. Like Frick, Voynich switched the phrase order, which may have put some of you off. She also packaged her interpretation in a simpler way that may have felt false to poll responders. In her translation, like in Frick's, FC is the recipient of the kiss. It's just that, here, the kiss is sent to him, rather than administered by virtue of his own action, as Frick would have it. The same is true for Hedley, actually, where FC is the recipient of the greetings. Most of you, and I (and the robot), thought it was TW who should be getting the kiss instead.

One poll responder suggested a hybrid option, which agrees with my interpretation of the middle phrase but Hedley's choice to rename the kiss: "Your last letter, in which you tell me to send you greetings, reached me in Antonina".

So what do you think? Was TW's original statement something like "kiss me/give me a kiss", or more like "give yourself a kiss for me", or even "kiss yourself (hostile)"? Or did TW always intend FC to be the passive party in receiving the kiss or greeting? Was this flirting? Was it part of the "TW hates being kissed" inside joke? There's no right answer to these questions, and a consensus doesn't mean the winning answers are true. We will probably never know for sure what TW really wrote... the best we can do is guess.

Some of my takeaways:

it's useful to look at multiple translations to see where translators have disagreed and where the uncertainty lies

if you remove ambiguity in the translation of a Chopin letter (like Hedley did) or complexity (like Voynich), you're in danger of removing nuance, which Chopin stuffs into his writing like it's build-a-bear.

but if you go with the direct meaning (like Frick), you may end up trying to convince the world that Chopin was asked to kiss himself somehow for some reason

and if the only one who agrees with you is a robot, you'll probably have to dig up an ancient prayer to justify your possibly modernized take (like me).

This is the curse in a nutshell.

Thanks for reading! hope you had as much fun with this poll as i did

#translation challenge #polish langblr #languages #polish #chopin #fryderyk chopin #my translations

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raynerwilde-kjrp · 2 years ago

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Character Info

Name: Rowan William Palmer

Alias: Rayner Wilde

Affiliation: Killjoys Better Living Industries

Age: 24

Gender: male

Pronouns: He/him

Looks: 5′7″ tall, curly dark brown hair, brown eyes, often seen wearing dark clothes and goggles, sinewy frame, often slouches.

Language: Old English, Middle English, Early Modern English, Modern English, Spanish

Interests: Reading, writing, chemistry, badminton

Backstory: Coming from a family of wealth and entrepreneurship, Rowan achieved his double-major BA with First-Class honours in English and Chemistry, with two Master's in English literature and Experimental Chemistry. His English thesis, focusing on the close connection of sound and literary form, was well received by the city’s university. Now in his second year of his PhD for Romanticist and Gothic literature, Rowan continues to excel in academia in literary studies.

Update: Palmer has abandoned academia for the zones, see file RWP-3473 for reward for his capture and re-education negotiated by family in [ERROR]

Note: Watch for signs of burnout and fatigue as his advisor has noted these changes in previous semesters.

Mod:

Name's K but I mainly go by Crylock! She/her or they/them I'm not picky :) Please note that I am over 21 so only interact if you are 16+. My writing tends to focus on speculative fiction and posthumanist fiction since that's what I focused on in my graduate years, but I am open to writing any genre or format other than smut.

Book and history nerd extraordinare. I also do @cybershadow @phant0mspades and @bli-jason-melwas

You can literally message me anytime about just about anything.

Rules:

- I’m not comfortable doing smut. Do not ask.

- If you want to make a plot or send an ask that involves my characters, ask or let me know first. Do not rewrite my arcs or characters or copy my arcs or characters. I will block you if you do.

- I can write starters either as a post or as an ask. Just let me know if you want me to and if you have a preference.

- I can’t believe I have to write this one. Don’t talk behind my back or backstab me or any of that. I’m here to have fun and improve my writing, not deal with drama and bullshit. That’s an automatic block if I catch you.

- Be patient, please. I have severe anxiety and suffer from health issues that are currently being monitored with a heavy dose of medication. If I ask/say/clarify something that seems redundant, please work with me because I’m probably having an off day.

Please Note: Rowan is tired and worn-down. He faces extreme familial pressure to seek a high education and has really been forced into doing things and going higher as an academic. Does he want to? He hasn’t figured that out. He will get irritable at times and sometimes will ramble about literary theory and oddly specific topics that he studies (sound as literature, posthumanism, and Romanticism). This blog will highlight the positives and negatives of academia, and how it is both a pathway to further learning but also exploitive of new ideas and young graduate students. Everything here is inspired by my own experiences in grad school, and it should be considered only one experience among many. Do not take this blog as discouragement from pursuing academia if that is what you want to do; Rowan’s experiences, along with mine, are not the truth for everyone.

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ezgithechaotic · 4 years ago

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pushing up the dasies . peter parker

pairing: Peter Parker x Reader, Peter Parker x female reader

summary: Someone has been stealing Y\N's flowers, and she is determined to find who it is.

warnings: she\ her pronouns (don't know if this one's a warning), mention of the death of a loved person, graveyard

author note: I’m sorry in advance if I have any fault. English is not my first language. But please let me know if you see anthing that doesn’t seem right. I really have no idea if this is good or trash. I’m getting mixed signs. So, please leave a comment about what you think, love you.

As a comic book nerd, I personally love both Andrew and Tom's Spiderman. Just thought this story fit Andrew's more, but feel free to imagine Peter as your favorite!

masterlist

The first time you realized a few flowers were picked from your garden, you didn't think much into it. The kids around the neighborhood liked to play hide and seek around your garden. You thought; it should be Thompson's girl, she likes flowers. It wasn't something that never happened before. You would simply plant new ones, it was no big deal, you could never get angry at children. But after some time, you started to realize the pattern. Every month on the same day, you found a handful of your daisies gone upon returning from your part-time job. Mrs. Thompson swore her daughter would never do such a thing without asking, and after the third time, you were sure somebody was stealing your flowers. Maybe it was that gruff man across the street that never got along with people. But you had a feeling if he had to do anything with your flowers, it would only be blowing them up.

Peter always wondered whom the pretty flowers and house belong to. The post box just outside the garden said Y\L\N, and he had always imagined an old sweet woman lived in the white-painted house with a green door. And Peter hoped he didn't make the poor woman too sad with missing flowers. Boy, was he wrong. You weren't old, and you were furious and determined to find the person who stole your beautiful daisies.

Your friends always wondered why you liked living in such an old neighborhood. The house was one of the few things your mother left you after she died, along with the considerable amount of money in your bank account. You could always sell the house, find an apartment downtown, so you can be closer to school that's what your friends told you every time you had them over. But you loved the house. You loved that the house held so many memories of your childhood, especially your garden. Even though your mother was a busy woman, she had always made time for you and her flowers. At the age of six, growing flowers with your mother quickly became one of your favorite pastimes. That week you did what everyone would do, changed your shift with Mary Jane to catch the flower thief.

So, no, selling the house or letting strangers steal your lovely flowers was not one of the many choices.

Now, Peter Parker was many things, but not a thief. Well, it depended on what you would call stealing. Surely picking a few flowers from a random garden couldn't count as stealing. And God knows he wouldn't do it if he weren't penniless. Trying to survive college and paying for an apartment didn't leave him much. The money The Daily Bugle paid was shit. He had been selling photos for the damn newspaper since high school, but it was no use, Peter had to find a job that paid more than The Daily Bugle. And there was no way he was going to ask Aunt May for money, even though she would be happy to give him some. But that was another day's concern, for now, the only thing he needed to do was be quick. Because he knew if you found out that it was him who was stealing, sorry picking, your flowers he sure wouldn't be able to swing away this time.

Peter honestly felt guilty about your flowers, they were lovely. And he knew this was a safe neighborhood, so he had no way of paying you back with saving you. He had been visiting Gwen every month since her death. It was one of the few things he could keep up with after he graduated high school. Daisies were Gwen's favorite. Peter knew he could easily find another place to pick the flowers, but he believed that there was something magical about the garden. He felt so much love around the house. Maybe it was a silly thing, but Peter thought Gwen would have loved that garden.

Y\N had been sitting on her porch, hiding behind the dark blue armchair, actually too anxious to face the flower thief. You felt childish after some time. It was just a few daisies, right? There was no need to act like a crazy woman. As you were getting ready to go back inside, you saw him. He had an average height, brown messy hair. He was wearing a black t-shirt and an unbuttoned baby blue shirt with a greenish-brown jacket. Y\N's anger turned back the minute she saw him touch the flowers.

"You, flower thief!"

A moment before, Peter felt like his whole body was on edge as if bells were ringing in his brain. But he was already late to realize she had been waiting for him and there was no way to run, he wasn't wearing his suit. Where were the damn spider-senses when he needed them the most? So, he just stood there, speechless, his hand hanged above the daisies. She was pretty, as pretty as the flowers before him. Guilt heating his face, Peter couldn't help but stare at you with his eyes wide open like a dumbstruck idiot. He felt like his lunch was climbing its way back up.

You were now, standing few steps away from him. "You've been stealing my flowers for months!"

Peter held his hands up in defense. "Look, I can explain."

Y\N put her hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised, waiting for an explanation. Your heart beating like crazy. Even though it was still bright and you were in the middle of a road, he was a man. A man taller and despite looking skinny, stronger than you. But you hold your face as still as you could.

"Go on then."

Peter couldn't find the words to explain. What was he going to say? Sorry, I thought my dead girlfriend would love your flowers so, I've been stealing them, I hope you don't try to kill me. No fucking way. His mouth opened and closed few times, making you sigh. You realized the boy wasn't going to give you any answer. He was probably taking them to his girlfriend or boyfriend.

"Are they pretty?" you asked, dropping your hands. Peter, very confused, kept on staring at her. You rolled your eyes at how silly he was. "The person you're taking my flowers to." Something at the back of your mind hoped he would say they were for his mother. Now that you were closer you could see the sweet hazel color of his eyes.

"Um-" His hand went up, scratching his neck. "She is."

She was.

He shuffled through his pants pockets. "I have a photo-"

"No." You stopped him. "I want to see if she is pretty enough for my daisies."

"What?" Peter tried to grasp his head around the idea.

"I want to see her and tell her that her boyfriend is a thief. C'mon."

"I don't think-" Peter was getting anxious, now. How was he supposed to tell you that her girlfriend was dead?

"Of course you don't think." You started walking. "C'mon, now. Take the flowers."

Peter didn't know what to do so he went with it. What could go wrong, right?

"I'm sorry," Peter said after some time. "I have no excuse for what I did."

His head hung low, watching his steps as he walked. He knew he would stutter if he looked at your face. Peter had a habit of getting tongue-tied around pretty girls. And, well, you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Mind you, he wasn't even thinking about Gwen anymore, which made him feel kinda guilty.

"It's okay." You had your hands in the pockets of your jacket. "My life's been boring lately. You were the only exciting thing, I guess."

"I'm sure you have more exciting things than me." Peter still didn't look at you but you could see him smiling.

"It's Y\N, by the way." You kept your eyes on him. "If you wanted to know the name of a woman you constantly robbed."

He laughed. "Peter, Peter Parker." His eyes finally met yours. It was ridiculous, how easy it was to just look at his face and feel safe even though he was a stranger. His smile grew even more. It was almost contagious, his smile. He had something about him that made you wanted to scream and purr like a cat at the same time. You felt yourself getting overwhelmed, he was making you weak at the knees. So, you pulled your eyes away from him.

Pull yourself together, woman! He has a girlfriend.

You were too distracted to realize where was Peter taking you until you arrived. It was the same route you took whenever you felt like talking to your mother. Peter and you were standing just outside of the graveyard. Your head whipped around, turning to Peter. He had a soft smile on his face.

"Peter, I-"

"It's okay."

"No, It's not okay." You took a deep breath, pressing your palms into your eyes. "I'm such a dick."

"No, you were just mad at me."

You slouched your shoulder, didn't know what to say. What would even one say in this situation?

"C'mon." Peter's warm hand was gently holding your arm, now. "Let's go see her."

You didn't talk until you arrived at the tombstone. Peter put the flowers in front of it.

"Daisies were her favorite." He had a sweet look on his face, he put his hands back into his pockets.

"They were my mother's favorite, too." You murmured, but Peter could hear you perfectly. "I think that's why I overreacted you picking the flowers. I wasn't thinking."

"Oh, It's not stealing anymore, then?" He teased. "It's okay, honestly. She would've liked you. You have that fire in you like you could make the world better just with a gesture of your hand. She liked that kind of people, that can light the room with their smile."

"I think I would've liked her, too." You said, your eyes on the tombstone.

Gwen Stacy.

Her name was familiar to you. You didn't know where, but you were sure you had heard before. Still, you didn't ask Peter anything, assumed he wouldn't be comfortable talking about it. You didn't say anything until you were out of the graveyard. You knew you would come back tomorrow to see your mother, but with Gwen on your mind.

The more you looked at his face the more you could see him. Peter wore his heart on his sleeve, he was easy to read. "You blame yourself." You said, nodding your head slowly. You smiled after seeing the face he made. "It's okay, I know the feeling."

"Your mother?"

"Yeah."

Neither of you talked for a long time. Peter could tell you weren't ready to talk about it. He knew it wasn't easy to open up, especially to a stranger. It'd been years since he talked about Gwen, so, he knew the feeling, too.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket. It was a message from Mary Jane. "Just arrived home, you owe me."

"That's it!" You exclaimed, remembering your talk with Mary Jane. "That's how I knew her name!"

Peter, looking very confused, asked you. "What?"

"Gwen, her name was very familiar." Pocketing your phone again. "I have a friend, Mary Jane, who went to the same high school with Gwen. I've seen her in the yearbook. That's where I recognized her name."

"You know MJ?"

"Oh, yeah," you laughed. "We met in Brooklyn, probably four years ago. I think it was very late, some guy was trying to get her number even though she said no, like five times. And I hadn't had the best day of my life. So, I punched the guy and told him to leave her alone. We have been friends ever since."

Peter was amazed. He didn't know how much cooler you could get.

"You know her, too?"

"Yeah, We've been friends for a long time. My aunt kinda tried to set us up."

You laughed. Peter and Mary Jane seemed like two opposite characters. You would never imagine them together. But again, maybe Peter's pretty face was affecting your judgment. You didn't know. He made your mind foggy. At last, you found yourselves at your front yard again. Your eyes wandered over the empty spots that daisies left.

"Would you like to get a coffee sometime?" Peter was leaning against white fences that surrounded your garden. He had that sweet smile on his face again. "So I can pay you back for daisies."

You bit your lips to stop yourself from smiling so much. "Gwen was pretty enough for them. You can have some once a month when I'm not looking." Peter was feeling like you were about to turn him down. Both of you knew this wasn't really about the damn flowers. But again, Peter was every so often wrong about these kinds of things. "But you know, maybe not Saturdays. I'm usually free for a cup of coffee on Saturdays." Peter was ready to feed himself with only pasta for a week if it meant he would get to see you again.

You could visibly see Peter's eyes liting up. "Just one cup?"

You shrugged. "Tea is fine, too."

"I didn't know MJ had friends like you." He said, intensely watching your every move.

"Like me?" You were so sure something bad was coming, he was simply too good to be true.

"You know, this beautiful. If I had known, I would have visited her more."

"Wow, you are hiding a monster under that pretty face, don't you?"

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x female reader #pter parker x f!reader #marvel #peter parker imagine #tom holland #andrew garfield #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine

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withoneheadlight · 3 years ago

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| billy & will + pre-harringrove | full fic in spanish |

There’s an in-between. The high school and the middle school. A bare piece of land, yellowed from the lack of grass and the rough kiss of the sun and, right in the middle, an old shack.

It's a shabby thing that accumulates lack of re-paintings and excess of humidity but that’s out of sight, in that way of things that are just there but no one wastes time looking at anymore are.

That's where they meet.

Billy lights up a smoke. Slides his ass up an ancient, long retired desk, pasture now of the damp and rot, and leans against the peeling wood. Front and back-row seat to the long column of trees the wind’s rippling along on the other side of the wire fence. The ember warms up his lips as he inhales a deep puff and exhales a,

“You’re getting soft, Billy Hargrove”

He leans his head back and closes his eyes, ears on that ceaseless chirping of the bids that sews together the slow-passing hours of the days and nights of Indiana, and on the delighted screams from the middle-schoolers, remembering that, somewhere in there, there's a bunch of kids who will still be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. That maybe even Max could be one of them, if Billy hurries. That maybe he will too, if Billy is able to control that instinctive reaction that pulls his skin inward and screams at him to stopstopstop, that the soft skin shreds, falls apart so easily.

But maybe it can be both of them, if Billy manages to clench his teeth hard enough and keep on softening.

‘Cause soft skin hurts when it breaks but,

"Hey!"

Sometimes it’s worth it.

Will’s smiling wide. Stops running, abruptly, and then just stands in there, panting. He’s got a funny nose and giant eyes. The kind of bangs that make you wanna blow them out of his eyes even though what they're is too short, actually, and Billy’s always thought he'd do better in life if he didn't. Notice things. If he didn't see that widewidewidewide smile and could read it so easily.

"I've been dying to show you this!" Will kneels down into the grass, chopping out the words in between exhalations. Pulls at the zipper of his backpack, chest heaving, and he doesn't realize he's going to get dirt on the knees of his jeans or that Billy can read it. His relief. Of finding him in here and not just an empty desk. Of how for a kid every single day more means 'You care’.

(About me)

It was early December. Friday right after last period and one of those silly things that only happen in movies. Something so like scripted and choreographed that Billy nearly considered looking up at the ceiling to make sure John Hughes wasn't silently watching them, taking notes from above. They crashed in the middle of a corner. Billy sped up ‘cause he was in a hurry and the only way to catch Max in time lately was to intercept her right out of class. Will ‘cause he's always going like that, Billy knows now. Always a thousand miles per hour. Always verging on time-jump speed to then being the kind of kid who seems so quiet it's scary. They crashed. Hard. In the middle of that corner. Papers flying all over and a curse (Will) and a muffled groan (Billy) and they ended up pulling at the same paper one from each corner. A drawing. Trolls and wizards and a castle and an emerald-green light. A star in the distance, auguring bad omens. Billy forgot to be frightening and Will must have forgotten he was supposed to be frightened when he blurted out a,

"Fuck, Byers. This is frikin’ fantastic."

No fear or reticence or that way he sometimes has of bumping into words and stumbling, just a "Really?" eyes huge and bangs brushing against his eyelashes as he blinked when Billy also forgot he was also supposed to― well, supposed to be Billy Hargrove.

"’Got more?"

So now he skips English instead of Algebra, every Tuesday and Thursday. Sneaks off to that in-between place he knows no one wastes time looking at anymore to light up a smoke, same time as Will has his recess. And the kid doesn't always manage to shrug off of his flock of nerds but he’s lucky, some days.

And he brings the drawings.

Orcs and goblins and enchanted mountains on the northwest and it seems to Billy that there are more princes than princesses and that if there are any, they’re almost always sorceresses, almost always queens and that your attention gets hooked on their burning eyes, not in the clothes they’re missing and Billy feels like it's a small grain of sand, this thing they’re doing. Knows that someone’s already keeping a solid ground under Will's feet ('Joyce' he says it’s her name. And it stings, the way he manages to fit so much love, into such a tiny word). But it also seems to him that maybe it doesn't take much more, for Will, just a few grains of sand, to replace those that being a strange kid in a small town sick with apprehension for what it finds strange, takes every day away from him.

So Billy’s gotta have to clench his teeth ‘till his gums start bleeding ‘cause is that, or let his skin toughen up again. Is that. Or fucking everything up.

And ave María, Billy doesn’t want to fuck it all up again.

So he sucks on his cigarette. Hooks up an eyebrow. Waves his hand to hurry the kid up.

“Mmm. That’s how good you think it is, dickwad? ‘C’mon, got my next class in twenty”

Will flies over the papers. Head nodding and fingers skimming fast. Finds what he’s looking for and yanks it out, raises it up triumphantly in his hand. It’s the sword in the stone and he carries it up to Billy with wet knees and just a little mud-staining. It’s February and the sun’s burning brightly over all the wetness the night’s spent crying. The drawing is a huge dragon, wings made of leather and cartilage, spread out in eclipse in front of the moon, only a few silver rays illuminating the dark knight in front of it. Blue eyes lined in black, blond curls cascading down his back and Billy was clenching his teeth but they part now, ‘cause the figure looks too much like him to be a coincidence. A smile devours his whole mouth. Soft. A joke itching on the tip of his tongue. He grunts a,

“I’ve been called many things. But never this, Byers”

Only half his expression’s visible, eyebrows covered with those thick bangs, and Billy has to once again fight the impulse to blow them out.

“¿Hum?”

“Knight” he says, drawling the teasing tone out “In shining armor”

And It’s such a loss, all that hair. Because it’d pass unseen, if you don’t know him. The way his eyebrows spike up underneath and it burrows in between them, the eagerness of teasing back. But Billy’s lucky, ‘cause it’s been more than two months like this and Billy―

Knows him. Well enough at least. So it doesn't pass unseen to him.

“You know the drill, William. Spit it out. Can see you’re holding it up from miles”

Will purses his lips out tight. Looks like he’s trying but. Nah.

“Wouldn’t be that shiny '' scrunches his nose. Throws a meaningful glance at Billy’s disheveled looks. More thoughtful than not, way more intentional. But that's something he'll figure out when he grows up.

Billy cackles. Will's smile widens, satisfied. Hops onto the desk next to his. Billy offers him the cigarette.

“And―this?” Will shrugs inwardly. Glances up at him. Then down, at the exchange between their hands. Takes the cig in between two fingers and it doesn’t burn but he barely presses them against the filter, anyway, as if he’s afraid it would, all of a sudden.

"Retaliation," Billy half grunts, half laughs, and Will huffs, but swallows a deep breath to gather strength. Exhales. Takes a tiny puff and―

"Argg," coughscoughscoughs "This is. Ugh. It's awful. I don't know how you―” almost throws the cigarette back to him "Ufff, what a―" he hesitates "Yuck"

Billy snorts. Thinks about Max inhaling deep, no more than two weeks ago, eyes pining his in place. Breaking into a violent cough only a second later.

Billy pats Will’s back too.

“That’s good” he says “You better not like it” Will scrunches his whole face “And this too” Billy adds, shaking the drawing a little “This is good, too. Amazingly good, man”

Will. Stares. At him. One. Two. Three long seconds. And Billy hurts a little. With every single one. Three sharp stabs with that newly freed sword. A different kind of ' you care' each one: 'it seems so impossible to me (that you care)'. 'If you think so, maybe it's true (and I do care, that you think it)’. 'Thank you (for caring)'. And then. Those hidden eyebrows. Will’s cheeks puffing out a little when he bites the tip of his tongue and―

"Billy?" his eyes glint, heavy with ill-contained malice.

"Uh?"

"You're the dragon"

"You fucking ass―!"

Billy shoves him sideways. But Will just sways. He doesn't lose footing on that firm ground he’s standing on. Looks back at the drawing, hunches a shoulder up.

"But you’re the knight, too"

He says it in a tone that cuts straight through Billy’s chest Thank you he thinks, even though his soft skin is hurting. And he still doesn't blow hard on that bowl fringe from where it covers Will’s whole forehead but―

Stirs up all his hair instead.

“Eh!!”

“Hey, shitbird. Wanna see the one I’ve made?”

Will nods quickly. All contained-speed and reverberating and sometimes Billy doesn't know how so few people can see it, how big he is for his own skin and he thinks I wish, wish he'd accumulate enough grains of sand to raise up that firm ground under his feet, and get really, really high.

“Sure!”

He keeps it tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket. Folded in upon itself. Same way he keeps everything else. Folds and layers and at the bottom of pockets no one ever looks at but.

He unfolds it to show it to Will Byers.

“Wow” Will says, and smiles up at Billy like Two months since we crashed against each other and I feel like I know you a little too, Billy Hargrove and Billy hit rock bottom but now at least Max and him sing AC/DC in chorus on the rides back home and Will's voice sounds like 'You're good' as he runs his fingertips over the graphite outlines of the skull and repeats, "Wow"

“Gonna have it done” Billy inhales a deep drag of Marlboro and 'Four Months to Eighteen' and for a moment it’s like he could feel the smoke curl up inside his lungs before blowing it out. The image is as pretty as it’s stupid. He glances at the open jaw of the drawing and thinks maybe he'd like a drag too "Have it healed for summer and―"

“What’s happening here?”

Steve.

Harrington.

Hand on his hips, preppy pastel polo lapels up, Ray-Bans holding up that way his hair swirls without really taming it. The twelve o'clock sun is shining sideways from his back and he's pretty. Painfully pretty. And Billy’s sure it's impossible that this redneck raised on corn and money amassed in dubious moral business is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen but sometimes he forgets. That it is impossible because. Fuck. It so seems like it. Light flicking on the ends of his hair where it curls. Under his ear. In the long curve of his neck. And the world doesn't halt and the birds don't stop chirping and the clouds don't part and no preternatural shit happens because this is the black hole where all the world's shit goes, Indiana. But. It so seems like it and,

Billy.

Knew how to breathe but that’s another thing he keeps on forgetting. Every time Steve Harrington passes him by.

He’s gotta force himself. To nod. To stop choking. When Will looks up at him with those big eyes. Questioning.

Apologizing.

Billy Hargrove, from freshly crowned local terror to―

“I was―” Will starts. Inhales. Presses his lips together right before blurting out the truth ‘cause he knows it's the only real way out "Showing Billy my drawings. Sometimes we―"

―the softie whose pride goes high up in his throat every time an eleven-year-old kid says 'Billy, this is good. It's very. Very good, Billy’.

"Sometimes we. Uhm. We―"

Will's already huge eyes get bigger, rounder. As if he’s just realizing that where he's stuck his foot keeps getting muddier, trapping himself all the way in. And Billy smiles lightly at him, sideways, so it’s hidden. From Steve Harrington. From all the world beyond. ‘Cause of that thing about facades and how hard they’re to maintain, when on one side is pressing what you're supposed to be and on the other, relentlessly, what you're hiding.

But Steve’s asking,

“Sometimes―what?” and Will’s eyes are fixed on Billy, two wide-open I’m sorrys and Billy thinks Fuck it, Hargrove. C’mon. Stop hiding.

So he’s the one who says,

“We share our drawings, Harrington”

And Steve.

He’s got those eyes.

They're like a troubled ocean in the heart of winter, those eyes. Hard, hard, hard. Imposing. But soft. So fucking soft. When something catches him off guard. Rolling stones in the breaker. And Billy wants to get swept up in them, like falling along the curve of a wave. Steve looks at him, and at the drawing in his hand, his eyes a swirl and, when he looks up, the calm. And Billy feels as those times when it seemed to him the waves wanted. To wrap around him. To catch him. Soft as the reflecting clouds. And Billy feels as those times when he’d let them. Carry him. Drag him to the shore. Safe and sound.

“Is that yours?” Steve frowns. When he does that. He looks the prettiest. And Billy's heart breaks. In tiny tiny pieces. Thinks This is what it takes, thinks Fuck, thinks, This is how things hurt when you let your skin get soft.

What you don’t have. What you want. What you could―

Fuck.

What you could love so bad you'd rip your own skin off, so they could touch your heart right with their own hands.

Billy nods. Will smiles. Steve’s frown softens and― waveswaveswaves. On an autumn morning. Waves lapping at the surface of an ocean of calm.

And now. Billy sings AC/DC with Max. His heart taking on water when his voice falls off-key and she clutches at her lungs, choking on laughter. Now, he sits in the back of an old shack halfway between who he is and who he should be and so, so very carefully turns at the pages of Will Byers' sketchbook.

And Billy Hargrove hit rock bottom one day in late October. Hit rock bottom and beat into pulp that pretty face he can't stop seeing in his dream. When he's asleep. When he's awake. Hit rock bottom and that's where he's going to stay. It's either that. Or risk coming up to the wrong surface. And it's easier, here at the bottom. Easier to see what matters, when you look up.

Here, Billy takes a breath. Deep. Deeper. Holds onto that air so he has something keeping him alive underwater when Steve snatches the drawing off his hands. Studies it carefully. Says,

"It's―Uhm. Well―" Grins "It's not. Beautiful. Like, conventionally." He eyes cut back to Billy and something in them breaks into whitewater, into that softness he can't help, as if everything else is as much of a lie as 'Billy Hargrove' and all those imaginary walls "But―"

He says ‘But’ and then. The bell goes off.

"Oh!" Will bounces on the spot "I have to―" he yanks the backpack shut "Class!"

He takes off. Running. Turning around right before the corner of the shack to wave at them, flashing one of those smiles Billy has involuntarily categorized as 'the good ones', wide and already almost panting again, before disappearing at the speed of light towards school and to, Billy hopes, be one of those few kids who are still going to be laughing just as hard, just as happy, a few years down the road. If they’re lucky.

(If Billy’s lucky)

Steve Harrington is still there, planted in front of him when the alarm stops.

"Can I bump one of those?" he asks, chin pointing to the smoke Billy's squeezing between his fingers. In the drift of his hair the Ray-Bans stay afloat, capsizing.

Billy bangs the base of the pack against his thigh, pops out a cigarette. Offers it to him. Scrapes his thumb along the wheel when Steve takes it to his lips, leaning forward and― It's broad daylight but in the thin glow of the flame it almost feels like it’s that exact instant when the world begins to fade, darkness turning wide-open spaces into narrow little universes: Steve Harrington and his red lips around the smoke and a small ache in the pad of Billy's thumb from keeping alive the fire and from wanting things with a bigger kind of ache, his heart cauterizing from holding inside the rage of knowing he's never, ever going to have them but―

"But?" Billy asks.

Steve grabs his wrist. Hollows out his cheeks. Inhales deep. Takes him a moment when he pulls away. To let go. Long enough that his fingers could read the way Billy's pulse is raging in his wrist, if he wanted to.

“But” And he’s smiling. Lopsided. He slips into Will's seat and stretches his neck toward the sky. Prolongs the wait. Exhales. "It's cute."

And then his gaze cuts down and he’s searching for him, with those eyes of his. For Billy, who can never stop looking at him so, when he finds him, finds him looking back already.

And Billy―

Billy.

"Cute?"

Billy. Blinks. His hand stops halfway from getting his own cigarette to his mouth. Stops his heart and it feels like time’s stopping too, in this narrowness Steve's presence has reduced the moment into. And he’s smiling big now. His eyes soft. Soft. So fucking soft. And Billy thinks,

You're getting soft too, Billy Hargrove. You want to let him shred off your skin, when Steve says,

"You," snorting a soft laugh, sun melting in his eyes like honey "With Will. Drawing."

Billy wants him to never stop looking at him like that. Wants to lean in, and kiss him.

"Shut up and smoke your fucking cigarette, Harrington" he growls.

And Steve rolls his eyes in a way that screams 'Gotcha, Hargrove', but leans his back against the peeling wood of the shack.

And does as he’s told.

(Next Tuesday, it's not just Will who shows up, when the bell starts ringing)

i just finished translating this and, since i had originally written this part as and stand-alone thing. here it is. idk if it's worth the work of translating it whole, or if i really feel like it but, we'll see!. i've been at war with life and writing this past few weeks but i've been missing you so much, fandom <3<3<3. hope you've been doing well.

also billy + will + drawing is one of my fav hcs and there are a few tiny things more that i wanna write? hopefully i will 🌟

#harringrove #billy hargrove #will byers #steve harrington #stranger things #billy x steve #steve x billy #billy & will #xharringrove

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archived-kin · 4 years ago

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genshin modern au cheat sheet

i’m planning to do more pieces set in this au, so i’ve put together a quick list of the characters i'm planning to write about/include!

there are three main groups here - the zhao family, the ragnvindr family and friends, and the Miscellaneous Pals™

(the next volume in this au is going to be a xiao piece, and that should be up within the next two or so days!)

1. the zhao family

zhongli, 36: history professor at the local uni who also plays the guzheng very well, tea-enjoyer, a very proud and supportive dad who loves his kids more than anything in the universe - probably unironically has so many pictures of them in his wallet

xiao, 23: taking a degree in psychology at the local uni, has a cool motorbike, bit of a control freak, doesn’t like surprises, will drop-kick you if you look at him or his sister funny, wants a cat but his dad’s allergic, never really grew out of his emo phase

yanfei, 19: baby of the family, prodigy lawyer-in-training, far smarter than many people give her credit for, likes building snowmen, has to protect her unsuspecting dad from Evil Salespeople looking to make some extra money

xiao and yanfei are biological siblings, and zhongli adopted them when xiao was 11 and yanfei was 7. the circumstances of this adoption is a mystery that none of the zhao family members seem willing to divulge…

the zhao siblings can have a little bit of tragic backstory. as a treat.

basically they were born into poverty and often went hungry for days on end. biological parents were distant and neglecting (though not actually physically/emotionally abusive - yet.)

when xiao was caught shoplifting bread and fruit from a local grocery store so that he and yanfei could actually eat, both parents went ballistic and kicked him out the house in the middle of one of the coldest winters the town had seen

poor kid was practically freezing to death out there, and yanfei raised such a fuss back in the house that mum slapped her square in the face to get her to shut up, which xiao saw through the window, and he promptly decided that he Was Not Putting Up With This Shit for any longer

immediately went to a neighbour’s house and told them what was going on, neighbours promptly called cps, and an investigation was launched

parents were deemed unsuitable for raising kids and (after a lot of back and forth) the two kids were taken into care

meanwhile zhongli was kind of sad because he had no friends or family in this town and all he really did was write articles, read books, and mark work

then one of his co-workers mentioned hearing about xiao and yanfei’s story and it hit zhongli so hard that he immediately rang up the adoption centre and ended up taking them in

and from then on both yanfei and xiao were very happy and healthy because zhongli was literally the best dad ever and put everything into taking care of them

2. the ragnvindr family (+ friends)

diluc, 29: budding businessman who still works at his dad’s cafe but is looking to open up his own company some time soon, still buys himself juice in those little cartons with the straws, still doesn’t know how raising bread works?? how does it get bigger???

diona, 7: diluc’s adopted daughter who has her father firmly under her thumb, bit of a spitfire but can also be the sweetest kid ever, enjoys making ‘potions’ out of grass and flowers and water (diluc can and will actually drink these potions because his love for his daughter knows no bounds)

kaeya, 25: diluc’s idiot little brother who’s changed majors at least five times and still doesn’t really know what he wants to do, practises fencing and horse riding in his spare time like a nerd, spoils his niece rotten

lisa, 26: the first of kaeya’s three roommates, has a degree in english and could easily have gone on to become a leading scholar but chose to instead open a bookshop that gets way more business than expected because she’s pretty and men and women alike are all simps

albedo, 23: the second of kaeya’s roommates, bit of a genius, has already started his chemistry phd, is almost concerningly pale and exhausted at all times, has not gone a day without breaking one of the cups for at least two years

venti, 21: the third of kaeya’s roommates, studying music, acts way older than he is sometimes but is mostly just a child, asks at least one of his roommates to marry him every day without fail, was and still is both a music and a theatre kid

lisa’s actually the one who owns the roommates’ residence because it’s on top of her bookshop

i was going to keep the whole ragnvindr family trauma thing but i decided that diluc deserved to be happy in at least one au so the brothers are still happy brothers :D

unfortunately that means that i’ve transferred a lot of the family trauma over to diona

essentially her mother died when she was a baby and her father, draff, turned to alcohol to get him through the stress of raising a child alone. unfortunately this led to him drunk driving one day, and he crashed the car into one of the wall’s of diluc’s dad’s cafe.

draff died on impact since he was in the front seat, but three-year-old diona managed to pull through despite her injuries. one thing led to another, diluc ended up taking care of her for a bit while the authorities sorted the whole thing out, but then he got too attached and decided to adopt her permanently

now diona has a dad, three uncles and an aunt who are all willing to shower her with all the love she deserves :’)))))

3. the Miscellaneous Pals™:

xiangling, xingqiu, chongyun, 17: local high school kids, they’re all kind of dating each other, low-key got adopted by xiao at one point, guoba is xiangling’s guinea pig and they all have joint custody over him

barbara, bennett, razor, 17: also local high school kids, also kind of all dating each other (but a lot more tentatively), regulars at diluc’s cafe, almost never seen apart

lumine, aether, ??: they keep showing up here and there around town to climb a tree and just sit there throwing leaves at people on the streets, then disappear. no one knows who the fuck they are

tartaglia, 23: nicknamed childe by his friends, also known as Mr Moneybags, is always just hanging around the local uni campus but doesn’t actually study anything there. his real name is ajax, but he thought that was lame so he gave himself a cool new one

eula, 24: new teacher at the local high school, her father used to be headmaster and was notoriously cruel to his students so everyone’s kind of wary of her, but she’s just really sweet and wants the best for her pupils :(((

amber, 21: number one eula defender, teaches the younger kids at the local primary, likes bunsen burners a little bit too much, still can’t remember how to spell the word necessary

hu tao, 25?: shady local mortician who may or may not practise illegal things, was kind of dating yanfei at some point but zhongli sent her packing as soon as he realised who she was, no one knows what her deal is

xiangling’s already a budding master chef and has received several offers from culinary schools, xingqiu is planning to study literature/language at uni but also might just go straight to trying to get a book published, chongyun is going to continue the family tradition of studying the supernatural with maybe a side job at xiangling’s future restaurant so that he doesn’t end up with no money if he doesn’t get any supernatural work

barbara is planning to go to medical school and also sings/dances in her spare time, bennett still doesn’t know what he wants to do but is considering carpentry among other things, and razor is dead-set on working at either a zoo or an animal shelter when he’s older

tartaglia never leaves the house without at least three pocket knives and a water pistol. he’s never had to use them yet, but you never know...

eula and amber live together and are probably dating but they’ll both just dodge the question if you ask them about it

they’re most definitely together though because on eula’s birthday amber brought her entire class of little kids to say happy birthday and bring her flowers

(incidentally amber is diona’s teacher)

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olderthannetfic · 4 years ago

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It's really surprising that you're so well versed in older fandoms and yet participate in new popular ones (that cdrama, kpop) is this by design? Im in my twenties and my interest turnover is already way slower than it used to be

You know, that’s a really interesting question. I wouldn’t say it’s by design exactly in that I do tend to just follow what strikes my fancy, and I can’t force myself to want to write fic for just anything. (I find it easier to like reading fic without serious involuntary emotional investment, but writing takes more. Vidding I can do on command most of the time, but I don’t usually bother unless I have a lot of feels or I’m fulfilling someone’s prompt.)

However, me getting into BTS was 100% due to me wanting to understand BTS enough to explain to people who weren’t very interested but wanted to know what was going on in fandom lately. Under normal circumstances, I run the dance party at Escapade, the oldest extant slash con. We borrowed vividcon’s thing of playing fanvids on the wall--all of them set to dance music--as the soundtrack for the dance party. This means I’m creating a 3-hour mixtape of fannishness, which has amazing potential to make people feel in the know about Fandom Today... and equal potential to make them feel alienated if nothing they care about shows up. Only about 100-150 people attend the con, so it really is possible to make a playlist that feels inclusive yet informative--it just takes a huge amount of work.

Every year, I do a lot of research on which fandoms are getting big and look for vids from vidders people won’t have heard of, so there is an element of consciously trying to keep up with things. Generally, I only get into these fandoms myself if I had no idea what they were and then suddenly, oops, they’re my kryptonite, like the buddy cop android plot in Detroit: Become Human, which sucked me in hard for like 6 months on the basis of a vid.

(So if you’re into cross-fandom meta and associated stuff as one of your fannish interests, you tend to have broader knowledge of different fandoms, old and new, than if you’re just looking for the next place you’ll read fic. It’s also easier to love vids for unfamiliar things than fic.)

But though I was only looking for a basic primer on BTS, BTS has 7 members with multiple names and no clear juggernaut pairing, not to mention that AU that runs through the music videos and lots of other context to explain. The barrier to understanding WTF was going on at all was high enough that to know enough to explain, I had to be thoroughly exposed... And once I was over that hurdle, oops, I had a fandom.

In terms of old vs. new, here’s the thing: kpop fandoms in English and c-drama fandoms in English right now feel a lot like anime fandom in English did in the early 00s. I had a Buddy Cops of the 70s phase in the middle, but my current fannishness is actually a return to my older fannishness in many ways.

What do I mean about them being similar?

Yes, I know some wanker will show up to say I think China, Korea, and Japan are indistinguishable, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the way that I used to routinely meet Italian and French and German fans, Argentinian and Mexican, Malaysian and Indonesian and Filipino too. English-language fandom of SPN or MCU may have all those fans from all those countries, but it feels very American most of the time. English-language fandom of a non-English-language canon is more overtly about using English as a lingua franca.

It also tends to attract people who as a sideline to their fannishness are getting into language learning and translation, which are my other passion in life after fanworks fandom. (I speak only English and Spanish and a bit of Japanese, but I’ve studied German, French, Russian, Mandarin, Old English, and now Korean.)

Nerds arguing about methods of language learning and which textbooks are good and why is my jam. This is all over the place in English-language fandoms of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean media. Those fandoms also tend to be full of speakers coming from a Germanic or Romance languages background who face similar hurdles in learning these languages. (In other words, if you’re a native Japanese speaker trying to learn Korean, the parts that will be hard for you are different than if you’re an English speaker, but you’re also usually not doing fandom in English.)

There’s also an element of scarcity and difficulty of access and a communal attempt to construct a canon (in the other sense) of stuff from that country that pertains to one’s fannishness. So, for example, a primer explaining the genre of xianxia is highly relevant to being a n00b Untamed fan, but just any old thing about China is not. A c-drama adapted from a danmei webnovel is perhaps part of the new pantheon of Chinese shit we’re all getting into, but just any old drama from decades ago is probably not... unless it’s a genre precursor to something else we care about. Another aspect here is that while Stuff I Can Access As A N00b Who Doesn’t Speak The Language may be relatively scarce, there’s a vast, vast wealth of stuff that exists.

This is what it felt like to be an anime fan in the US in 2000. As translation got more commercial and more crappy series were licensed and dumped onto an already glutted market, the vibe changed. No longer were fans desperately trying to learn enough of the language to translate or spending their time cataloguing what existed or making fanworks about a show they stuck with for a bit: the overall community focus turned to an endless race of consumption to keep up with all of the latest releases. That’s a perfectly valid way of being fannish, but if I wanted that, I’d binge US television 24/7.

Anime fandom got bigger, but what I liked about anime fandom in English died, and I moved on. (Okay, I first moved on to Onmyouji, which is a live action Japanese thing, but still.)

Hardcore weeaboos and now fans of Chinese and Korean stuff don’t stop at language: people get excited about cooking, my other other great passion. Times a thousand if the canon is something like The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, which is full of loving shots of food preparation. People get excited about history! Mandarin and Japanese may share almost nothing in terms of grammar or phonology, but all of East Asia has influence from specific Chinese power centers historically, and there are commonalities to historical architecture and clothing that I love.

I fell out of love with the popular anime art styles as they changed, and I’m not that into animation in general these days. (I still own a shitton of manga in art styles I like, like Okano Reiko’s Onmyouji series.) I’ve become a filmmaker over the last decade, and I’m very excited about beautiful cinematography and editing. With one thing and another, I’m probably not going to get back into anime fandom, but it’s lovely to revisit the cultural aspects I enjoyed about it via live-action media.

BTS surprised me too, to be honest. I really dislike that early 90s R&B ballad style that infests idol music (not just Korean--believe me, I resisted many rounds of “But Johnny’s Entertainment though!” back in the day). While I like some of the dance pop, I just don’t care. But OH NO, BTS turn out to be massive conscious hip hop fanboys, and their music sounds different. I have some tl;dr about my reactions in the meta I wrote about one of my fanvids, which you can find on Dreamwidth here.

But back to your comment about turnover: I know fans from the 70s who’ve had one great fannish love and that’s it and more who were like that but eventually moved on to a second or third. They’re... really fannishly monogamous in a way I find hard to comprehend. It was the norm long ago, but even by the 90s when far more people were getting into fandom, it was seen as a little weird. By now, with exponentially more people in fandom, it’s almost unheard of. I think those fans still exist, even as new people joining, but we don’t notice them. They were always rare, but in the past, only people like that had the stamina to get over the barriers to entry and actually become the people who made zines or were willing to be visibly into fanfic in eras when that was seen as really weird. On top of that, there’s an element of me, us, judging the past by what’s left: only people with an intense and often single passion are visible because other people either drifted away or have seamlessly disappeared into some modern fandom. They don’t say they’re 80 or 60 or 40 instead of 20, so nobody knows.

In general, I’m a small fandoms and rare ships person. My brain will do its best to thwart me by liking whatever has no fic even in a big fic fandom... (Except BTS because there is literally fic for any combination of them, like even more than for the likes of MCU. Wow. Best fandom evar!) So I have an incentive to not get complacent and just stick with one fandom because I would very soon have no ability to be in fandom at all.

My appetite for Consuming All The Things has slowed way down, but it also goes in waves, and a lot of what I’m consuming is what I did back in 2000: journal articles and the limited range of English-language books on the history of m/m sex and romance in East Asia. It’s not so much that I have a million fandoms as that I’m watching a few shows as an expression of my interest in East Asian costume dramas and East Asian history generally.

I do like to sit with one thing and experience it deeply rather than moving on quickly, but the surface expression of this has changed depending on whether I’m more into writing fic or more into doing research or something else.

But yes, I do do a certain amount of trying to stay current, often as a part of research for fandom meta or to help other people know what’s going on. Having a sense of what’s big doesn’t automatically mean getting into all those things, but I think some fans who are older-in-fandom and/or older-in-years stop being open to even hearing what’s new. And if you’ve never heard of it, you’ll never know if you might have liked it.

#fandom meta #fandom history #Anonymous

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moosoobi · 4 years ago

Text

Revelation

In the night: Chapter 1

T.Jeffy- Hamilton: the musical

Thomas’s interest in Y/N pulls him into a position he was previously blind to. They say every girl’s another mystery, but definitely not like this. Buckle your seatbelt Tommy, you’re in for a ride

Finally finished the first part of ITN (which is ironic since the moment I wrote this message I still haven’t finished it). I really hope I’m able to bring this story to life the way I want to and I hope y’all enjoy 😔💕. Here’s some stuff to expect:

Told from Thomas’s POV

Modern Au

College talk even though I’m literally in my second year of high school (so please bear with me)

Ruh roh moments

Sorta weird POV/storytelling (I’m new to writing fics and stuff so this is definitely a learning opportunity) Also excuse my English errors: Though this is my only language, my school system seemed to fail in teaching me how to write

Word count: 6.7k (including separators)

2 DISCLAIMERS:

TW: itty bitty angst, themes of injury/blood, etc.

I’m not the best story writer, so after reading this chapter you may have many questions. Please keep in mind that this is one chapter out of (about) 10. Things that you may not understand in this chapter will most likely be explained in future chapters.

-Now Playing: In The Night by The Weeknd-

My God, she’s perfect

The way the sunlight reflects off of her glass skin. The sincerity in every word, every letter that she writes with her only pencil. To be that flawless, it’s a mystery to me. She takes a glance at me. Did she feel me staring? I duck down my head in embarrassment.

“Jefferson, you oughta put that scholarship to good use”

Professor Washington boomed to the entire class. I hear a fragment of her giggle. Her laugh is soft and naïve. I couldn't help but smile at the sound of her happiness.

Washington is right, though. It's my first semester after I came back from my student exchange program over in France and I can already feel my sanity slipping. France was a beauty to visit, so many customs and cultures I wish I could be flourished in right now.

But there was one thing great about going to school in New York: I get to sit in a classroom with Y/N L/N.

I’ve never talked to her formally, at least not yet. She’s always sitting alone, never answers any questions, but Professor Washington makes the class acknowledge her perfect test scores and fascinating interpretations

As the bell rings I watch her stand swiftly. Is she in a rush? I can't help but watch as her hair is flung over her shoulder. She stuffs her notebooks and singular pencil into her burgundy-magenta backpack. Hey, at least she has good taste in color.

I don’t think you understand

She sits alone everyday during lunch, yet she never looks bothered. Her energy is so compelling to me. A feeling about her that I cannot comprehend, something that feels greater than my existence. I just got to know.

“Thomas, you gotta work on staring at people less noticeable” James catches my attention by pointing his fork a little too close to my face.

I was staring? Again?

I shake my head to snap back to reality

“The great Thomas Jefferson is interested in someone for longer than 30 seconds. I gonna be honest with you Thom, that’s impressing”

I hear James laugh as he violently stabs a few pieces of pasta onto his fork.

James has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. We went to the same middle and high school down in Virginia, and just coincidentally ended up going to the same college in New York.

We’re always there for each other. I remember cheering for him at a high school assembly after he won a story writing challenge, he’s such a nerd. Then again, he had to drive me home a couple of times after I failed multiple driving tests.

Back in high school, James was the Chess Club Champion, a title he always shoved down my throat. It’s no secret why, though. He’s really good at thinking things through, While I on the other hand tend to dive headfirst into the abyss.

“Shut it James” I sarcastically retort, taking a sip of the expensive chocolate milk which my scholarship supposedly pays for

Hey, can I sit here?

I talked to her during class. Her voice is angelic: Now, I’m not one to be religious and all, but that voice could get me on my knees praying for forgiveness. My ego couldn’t get me anywhere at all, as if she already knew my tactics, she knew my flirts, and how? I guess it just adds to her mystery.

“C'mon! that one works every time!” I whine

“Don't be so full of yourself Jefferson, I’ve heard them all before” A smile danced across her face

She did, however, laugh at some of my remarks. It's good to know that she has a sense of humor. My jokes of Professor Washington’s shiny, bald head. The jokes of Professor Washington’s assistant, John Adams, who’s suspiciously absent considering he signed up for this job.

Heck, I would even make fun of myself if it meant I got to hear that graceful laugh one more time- actually, that might be a little too far.

Many days of giggling in class came after that day. I can see her starting to open up to my friends and I, like she’s spreading her wings and showing us the greatness that lies behind the social wall that she put up years ago. Even when we got in trouble for a little too much giggling in the back of the class, I sacrificed my own pride so she didn’t have to. Yes, I, Thee Thomas Jefferson, did that.

---

Even though I could see the social wall she put up, I knew one day Y/n would fall for my charming pick up lines, or maybe I just happened to have a lucky day:

“Y/N I need some a some help with my math homework”

Y/N glances over to me in concern. I fake a scared expression.

“Quick!” I swiftly grab her shoulder and shake her “What’s your phone number?”

She playfully smacks my arm

---

Obtaining her number felt like a rite of passage, like I’m important to her, like she wants me in her life. I couldn’t stop smiling that day, and of course James just had to make a comment on it.

“Thomas, if you keep smiling like that I’m going to start thinking that your sick or something”

James said as he shut my laptop, tired of waiting for me to pack my things.

“Now that's REAL ironic coming from you, James”

I raised an eyebrow as my laugh begins to come up my throat. I take my closed laptop and shove it somewhere into my backpack.

“Okay, leaving for a month in sophomore year just because of a little fever doesn’t make ‘being sick’ as part of my trade mark”

James playfully smacked the back of my head. Thankfully, my curls serve as protection, not just to make me sinfully handsome. James and I walk out of the freezing lecture hall and were hit with the crisp-coldness of New York.

To the right of me I catch a glimpse of that eye catching burgundy-magenta backpack as it’s thrown into the trunk of a shiny, expensive car. My feet keep its motion as my head turns to see Y/N standing at the door of the car.

“Yo, is that Y/N?” I hear James whisper behind me “and who’s that?”

My attention is suddenly drawn to the tall man walking around the car to open her door. His curly hair is pulled into a small bun and the smile he had on his face broke apart the stubble on his jaw. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion.

“I’m just as clueless as you are”

Keeping my glance on Y/N and the man, I watch as the man opens the door for her. My stomach turns as I watch Y/N smile back at him as she sits in the car.

For a split second, I swear I saw her shoot a soft glance at me. My feet almost stop in their tracks before I feel James’ hand yank me onto another pathway.

“I’m all for you being head over heels, but we’re gonna be late to our study session with Angie”

Reality starts to set back into my head.

“Right, lets dip.”

---

“So little Tommy is Infatuated with this woman?”

Angie’s eyes are piercing, and her luscious hair frames her face in a saintly manner. She slips off her baby pink coat to ease into her library seat. Her eyebrow raises as she takes a sip of her steaming coffee

Of course James wouldn’t shut his mouth, especially around the notorious Angelica Schuyler.

Angie’s pretty popular here, I find myself wondering why she has so many connections, yet it’s not just any reason(s) why she seems to be in the spotlight.

1: She’s the oldest Schuyler. Her last name definitely got her places, not like I’m one to talk. Everyone seems to know her, not just at school, but all around New York City, and with her 5,000 Instagram followers, her first name’s starting to catch up with her last name in popularity

2: Angie’s Daddy has money money. And that’s no secret when she decides to walk around campus with her designer handbags and shoes. I tend to think she always gets what she wants, but I know deep down, she’s never gonna be satisfied. Maybe it’s just a side effect of growing up with a silver spoon in your mouth

And finally,

3: Miss Schuyler here is Bold. She’s never afraid to put both me and James in our place. It’s almost as if she can’t be touched by anyone’s thoughts of her, then again the gossip in NYC is terribly insidious. With such grace and respect, Angelica is not afraid to throw your opinion into the ground.

“Yeah I swear, Jefferson would’ve gotten run over if I didn’t pull him onto the pathway” James attempted to tone down his laugh so the librarian wouldn’t stab him with those old, sharp eyes

“She-...”

For the first time, I didn’t know how to recoil

“..Just caught me off guard.”. In an attempt to change the topic, I flipped through the pages of his textbook.

Angelica and James shared an astonished glance at Thomas before looking at each other. I could hear James shrug and flipping open his textbook. I lift my head as I hear Angelica dig through her bag

“Alright let’s get started” Angie claps her hands together with determination

—-

It’s been 2 hours of studying in the ghostly library. Unfortunately, I can’t avoid the talk forever.

“Hey Thomas, why don’t you invite her to our next study session?”

Angelica smirked as she rudely shut my laptop. I desperately imagine the day where both James and Angelica leave me alone. I angrily glare up at her, but she has a good idea

“Actually, that’s not to bad of an idea” I ponder for a moment before retrieving my phone from my pocket

Thomas: Hey Y/N, u free this week?

Hmm. Is this okay? Nah it’s too straight forward. I sigh as I deleted and retyped the message

Thomas: Greetings Ms. L/N, this is Mr. Jefferson from class. Would you delight me by partaking in a study session?

What the heck Jefferson? I began to get frustrated from this nonsense. It’s just a text, why am I getting so anal over it?

Thomas: Hey Y/N, ds@insdas/19z7dnesdc-

Angelica, who was watching me the entire time, snatched the phone from my hands. I attempted to protest, yet Angelica Schuyler knows how to hold her ground.

“Angie wh-”

“I’ll do you a favor, Jefferson.” She said sternly. There was no way I was getting that phone back, heck, I would be lucky if I got it back in one piece

“Aaaaand sent!” I heard her squeal

Angelica suddenly tossed the phone to me and I fumbled it between my hands before I held it stably. I check to see the text that Angelica sent from my phone

Thomas: Hey this is Thomas from class, wanna come study with us at the library sometime?

Oh. It was that easy.

“Thanks Angie”

I shove my phone back in my pocket. Part of me was excited to have an excuse to text Y/N, yet I do wonder how awkward it would be if she rejected the offer. I mean, she already has the perfect grades, why would she need the extra help?

I start to rethink my decision.

—-

It wasn’t until 11 pm at night until I got a reply from Y/N. Beforehand, I arrived at my apartment around 8 pm. As soon as my door shut, the room was filled with growls indicating my current problem: hunger. That could only be solved with one solution: microwavable mac and cheese.

My phone dinged while I was laying motionless on my bed. My apartment was right next to the street, and all I could hear was the busy streets of New York City.

My eyes opened as I turned to my charging phone.

Y/N: yeah I’m down :) just send a time and place and I’ll be on my way

I was filled with joy, so much that I couldn’t wait another second to reply.

Thomas: Alright, we meet at the library after our class. Can you make it?

Seeing the three dots jump melodically made my stomach feel as if two fairies were dancing throughout my body. Any second now, any second. ding!

Y/N: sounds good!

I guess it’s settled, I get to hang out with the puzzling Y/N L/N, and maybe I’ll get to learn a bit more about her. But just because it’s a study session doesn’t mean I can’t show her what a southern gentleman looks like, and for the first time, I’m so excited to study

---

James, Y/N, and I walk out of professor Washington’s class, laughing our asses off over some stupid joke. Everyone around us appears to be annoyed, especially with having to sit through almost two hours of my friends and I laughing in the back of the class, but it’s not like I care.

Once we’re hit by the bitter cold of New York, my eyes are immediately drawn to that expensive car. So familiar and so faint in head, the memory of Y/N smiling as she hopped into his car replays in my brain.

“I’ll be back guys”

Y/N excuses herself from the group before lightly jogging to the car. Her hair was graceful in the wind, and her burgundy-magenta backpack didn’t seem to weigh her down at all. For a split second, my brain acknowledges that mysterious man in the driver’s seat. There was a moment of awkward eye contact with him, his cold eyes pierced through me before my attention was drawn back to Y/N. She fixes her hair and jacket.

That was cute.

What?

James and I watch Y/N before turning to each other. I suggest to James that we wait for her, show a little southern hospitality. Even though Y/N seems to be fond of this man, he gives off a mysterious vibe similar to Y/N’s, but I do not want to unravel that mystery at all.

Seeing him throw a smirk at Y/N causes discomfort in my stomach.

Y/N comes prancing back to us, an embarrassed smile on her face. Behind her, that shiny, expensive car begins to drive away.

“My bad, I forgot to tell my roommate that I would be out late”

“That’s your roommate?” James asks, attempting to hide his curiosity and shock

“and he takes you home after class?” I interrupt briefly

Y/N nervously laughs before nodding “something like that, he just..”

That pause was a little too long

“..doesn’t like me out of the house too late so he volunteers to drive me home all the time”

I shrug it off before jumping at the feeling of James’ warm hands pulling Y/N and I to the direction of the library. Y/N and I look at him with confusion

“What? Angie doesn’t like when we’re late, remember?” James says, practically dragging us to the Library

—-

“Nice to meet you”

Angelica and Y/N got along pretty well. I can tell Angie was happy to finally have a girl to hangout with rather than having to deal with me and James only. She’s already starting to resemble a sisterly figure to Y/N, then again, growing up with two sisters must’ve prepared Angie for this moment.

I don’t hear much about the other Schuylers, but I am familiar with them. Angelica is the oldest, as we know. Her first sister, Eliza Sch- I’m pretty sure she got married, is the nicest person you’ll meet. Whoever won her surely must be worthy, because we all know people like me wouldn’t get anywhere near Eliza thanks to her older sister. Her youngest sister, Margarita Peggy Schuyler, is just like Angelica.

Stubborn. As. Fuck.

I’m confident that Angelica has taught her that philosophy since she was born. Anyway, Peggy is currently living her dreams in Southern California. Not sure what she does, but I’m sure she’s financially stable, she is a Schuyler after all.

All of us struggle to not annoy the librarian, let alone the entire library. I watch as Y/N opens up, just a little more, to Angelica, James, and I.

Hours pass as we clown around in the library. From actually completing class work to a small drawing competition between James and I, I was certainly having a good time, and so was everyone else.

It was pleasing to see Y/N more laid back rather than how she acts in class. In front of Professor Washington she’s so ‘put together’ and organized, but surrounded by her friends she’s such an amazing person, her range in professionalism and humor is astounding.

I can’t seem to ignore the fact that Angelica notices the way I look at Y/N. It’s definitely not in my strong suit to be ‘low key’, I’m known for dramatic entrances and stealing the spotlight. She smiles when I make eye contact with her, and I’m pretty sure it’s just her way of annoying me, but I can’t help the way I look at Y/N. She really is an angel sent down from heaven, disguised as a college student, and I’m just lucky enough to be her friend.

I’m blind to her flaws. When I see her, I feel like a tourist glancing at the Mona Lisa, memorizing every curve of her face, the way her hair falls around her shoulders, and the way the library lighting reflects off of her glowing skin.

What felt like a sledgehammer breaking a slab of fragile glass, I see Y/N’s phone light up. Even across the table I can read the word “Lafayette” off of her phone. I can’t lie, it surely sounds familiar.

When she finally noticed her phone flash on, I feel her ease turn into worry, and it definitely didn’t go unnoticed by James, Angie, and I. She starts to pack away her books

“My bad guys, I really gotta go”

Y/N said notably panicking. Her phone flashes once again, yet the only thing that seems to catch my eyes is the bold “7:30” spread across the top of her phone.

“Are you okay by yourself?” I asked, trying my best not to pry into her business

“Yeah, my roommates here to pick me up, I don’t want to make him wait” she tried to play it off, but I’m learning to see right through her

“Alright, see you next time Y/N” I shrug it off

She sends my friends and I a quick smile before replying

“for sure”

Angelica and James got back to work without saying a word, and I could tell they were waiting until she was gone to start teasing me. I eased back into my chair before flipping the pages of my notebook

I watched as she shoved open the library door and disappeared into the darkness. She’s such a mystery, when I feel like she’s opening up, she just shuts the door and we’re back at square one. Though I do claim to love a good challenge, Y/N L/N, I will never understand you.

—-

And that’s when it started. It wasn’t just one time where 7:30 was Y/N magic number, oh no, it was oddly consistent. I’m convinced that Y/N is some variation of Cinderella; her polite attitude and the beautiful little things she does without acknowledging it all vanish when the clock strikes 8:00, but that’s just one of many theories made by James.

Another study session with James and Angelica, and Y/N’s flashing screen still compelled Y/N to leave the library without a trace. On some occasions we don’t even notice her escape, we just turn to see her seat empty and feel the faint wind from outside as the library door slowly closes.

One day Angie bought us all tickets to see the preview to the newest, scariest movie I’ve ever watched. I was accompanied by Y/N, James, and Angie, yet their presences made it worse. Halfway through the bucket of popcorn and the movie, Y/N suddenly stood up and left after saying those 5 words. Before she left, I felt the warmth of her hands leave the place on my arm.

I never knew how addicting her warmth would be until it was already gone.

“Sorry guys, I gotta go” The weak smile on her face instantly resonated feelings of sympathy and understanding.

From then on, Y/N and I grew closer as friends. We’d fool around at a local park before heading to campus, obviously sparking a few observations and remarks from James. I’d invite her to fancy dinners, or maybe even a small festival down the road from my apartment, yet her response would always be proven false at the moment she’d leave me and my thoughts at 7:30.

But that hasn’t stopped me from attempting to hang out with her. Even on the days I wouldn’t have class with her we’d go out and get ice cream, study at the park, I guess you can say we’ve gone on a few ‘dates’ since our initial study session.

Whenever we’re apart, I can feel every second expanding to its maximum capacity of time. I wouldn’t see her for a day and it will already feel like years since I’ve seen her. The days I do see her, time seems to maneuver a little too fast. When I recall hanging out with Y/N, all I can imagine is the feeling of floating above the clouds every time she and I made physical contact. Like a rock being dropped into still water, ever touch ripples throughout my body, sending shivers down my spine.

Truly incredible.

—-

She doesn’t like to talk about her personal life, and I find that quite odd. I’m usually one to continue rambling every detail of every trait of mine, yet I find myself yearning to learn more about her.

We text every now and then when we’re outside of class, a little more to be considered ‘just friends’. There’s always a story which unravels just a little more of Y/N’s past, and she’s left me on my own to connect the dots. I must say, she’s definitely an interesting gal, but I know there’s more to discover.

She’s a native New Yorker, born and raised, surviving by splitting an intense rent with her mysterious room mate. Y/N doesn’t talk much of her family, other than faint memories of her mother single handedly raising her and her little brother, who I’m fairly unaware of.

Going into college undecided, Y/N describes her want to learn more about herself before she’s able to make any life determining choices. I’ve noticed that her schedule seems like a labyrinth avoiding life problems and obstacles, so perhaps being placed in the same class coincidentally was just fate playing its part.

Y/N loves to explain her dream for workless weekends, moments in the week where she just gets to sit back, close her eyes, and breathe a little. With finals starting to appear from thin air, I can’t blame her for a dream so far from reality.

Even with the knowledge I hold of her, something never seems to change: her disappearances at 7:30.

It’s always that damn 7:30.

7:30--the cliffhanger your favorite show leaves you desiring for more

the end of a fun night of laughter and glee, wishing it lasted just a little longer

the off-set energy in a room when those around you know something you don’t.

As days, weeks, and months pass since my first text proposal to hang out at the library, Y/N and I become a little closer than just friends. It’s been obvious, especially to James and Angie, that Y/N is more than capable of holding my attention.

Though James is worried that Y/N will just become ‘another girl’ to me, concerning my tomcat nature in the past, he can see the potential I see in her. I find myself wishing I did spend more time with her, maybe I just need to make a better effort.

I’ll prove James and Angie wrong.

Filled with determination and confidence, in the midst of my silent room, I whip out my phone and direct my attention towards forming a text message for Y/N

Thomas: let’s get coffee sometime?

Jefferson charm, don’t fail me now.

---

Before I knew it, Y/N and I were feasting on exotic cheeses and aged wine in my New York apartment. I hit play on a random romcom which helps to fill the emptiness in my apartment and ironically the thin space between Y/N and I.

I have no idea how to make my move. Though I’m not aware of my competition, I imagine if Y/N could attract someone of My caliber, I should be well aware of the things she’s capable of. Originally I planned to court her-- I know, I know, I’m a man of tradition--yet after James caught on to my recognizable frustration, He suggested I go for it.

This is surprising on multiple occasions, especially since James possesses the ‘brains’ between the both of us. Being the chess club champion, ‘talk’ won’t aid you when you're struggling in a chess match. Just like how he meticulously plays chess, he examines my situation and provides his Virginian insight, or so he prefers to call it, and they always proceed the way his scheme describes.

I’ve adhered his advice to my life ever since we were kids, and when I didn’t, he’d simply reply with:

“I told you so”

His smug smirk accompanied with a finger pointing to his temple would soon transform from clever to annoying.

I feel a vibration come from my pocket. Well, of course it’s not Y/N texting so must I really answer it? I pull out my phone despite my doubts and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

James: 👍

Speak of the Devil.

But enough about James. I understand that both Y/N and I are mature college students, yet I still fear the disruption in our friendship I can provoke just by making my move. I’ve gotten this far; If she wasn’t interesting I’m sure she would’ve rejected me sooner.

She’s different, she’s unique, something about her that I just can’t place, but also something missing. Anyway, this is probably my best chance at shooting my shot at Y/N, and it’s too late now to back down.

As my lips part in an attempt to speak and make a move, Y/N’s motionless phone (currently laying undisturbed on my coffee table) suddenly brightens with the most obnoxious ringtone I’ve ever heard. The words “It’s 7:30!” flash on her screen, almost as if it was warning her rather than reminding her.

“Y/N—” my eyes follow her body as she swiftly stands up

“I gotta g—” I watch as she attempts to grab her purse, yet her body is limited when I firmly grab her arm. She looks back to me with tiredness in her eyes.

Part of me thought maybe, just maybe, Cinderella here wouldn’t have a curfew. That I somehow would be the exemption to this consistent confusion . But you can only daydream so far into the day until you’re pulled back into your reality

Her entire demeanor seems like it was reconstructed after her alarm went off. Moments ago she was just enjoying tasty cheese and cheesy movies, and the worst part is, I have no idea why.

“Let me speak, darlin’”

I stand up to avoid the way her eyes look down on me. I can’t stand that pitiful glare; she looks at me as if I’m a child incapable of understanding her situation, but she’s too stubborn to let me know. I’d be wise to use this time to make a move on different circumstances.

“Now, you’re always leaving at seven thirty..”

Her sigh is almost enough to interrupt me

“..why’s that? Talk to me.”

I maintain my eye contact before it’s abruptly broken. She looks everywhere but my eyes, and I wonder where in my apartment she would find an excuse, yet still manages to dodge the question.

“..you wouldn’t understand..” she scoffs almost intentionally, honestly scratching a part of my ego. I hate to admit she’s right, I really don’t understand what’s going on.

I cock my head to the side. Where’s this coming from?

“Darlin’, I’m sure I’m a very understanding person—”

“—I need to leave”

I could tell by the look of her face that she wasn’t trying to argue, but it’s inevitable.

“Why can’t you just tell me?..” I put my hands up as a sign of defeat, but I’m not giving up yet. “We’ve been friends for a while and you’re always leavin’ at seven—”

“I know! I know..” she removes my hand from her arm, clearly refusing to look up at me.

“Let’s just say..I got a job..?”

Oh. That’s what this is all about? A job? She couldn’t spare at least an explanation for a part time gig?

“See? That wasn’t so hard”

“It’s..really embarrassing..” The glance she takes around the room makes me wonder if she’s really telling the truth. it’s not really my place to speculate, there’s no going back from this.

“It’s alright, it’s just a job after all” I claim, trying to get this conversation back on track

“This is exactly what I meant but ‘you wouldn’t understand’”

Huh?

“You don’t know what it feels like to have your life rely on minimum wage—” she sounds like she’s holding something back.

“Y/N wher—”

“A-and here you are makin’ me late for work” her eyes appear on the verge of crying.

“darlin’ look..”

“God, you’ve never had to work for anything in your life!”

Silence.

Both of us refuse to speak. Y/N phone, still on the table, chimes again. “7:35” it said on its bright screen.

“Is that really how you feel?..” I take a step back to give her space. She still refuses to look at me.

There’s no way she’d cause all this chaos just because of a job. And even if she believes I’ve piggy backed off of my name for my entire life, why would it matter to her?

“I..I should leave” before I could process what just happened, she swiftly tosses her phone into her bag and heads for the door.

“Y’know, I had a nice time..” was all I heard before the harsh shutting of my apartment door.

And that was the end of it.

My first thought after the door shut wasn’t to whip out my phone and attempt to text her, it certainly wasn’t to call James and inform him of his miscalculation, but instead to attend to the matter at hand. This cheese and wine won’t clean itself.

And the night continued normally, as if nothing had ever taken place. I couldn’t help but microwave another cup of Mac and cheese to cope with what Y/N said. Nothin’ like a good meal to divert your attention away from your problems. But even a good cup of cheese and pasta can’t stop me from thinking’:

Is that all I am to her?

A southern snob incapable of functioning without their father’s last name?

After an introspective shower, and a few episodes of a random Netflix show, I’m finally alone with my thoughts and feelings. I lie in darkness, tussling and turning at every occasion, unable to extract her words from my mind.

If there’s someone whose opinion I care about the most, it’s Y/N L/N. I consider texting her at this very moment, yet I’m sure that I’m the last person she wants to talk to. The weight of my actions falls heavily onto my shoulders every minute, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Give her space, Jefferson, and maybe you’ll be able to fix this tragedy.

---

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The knocks on my apartment door were enough to jerk my body back to consciousness. Sadly pulled from the warmth of my dreams, I’m hit with the cold, noisy reality of an average night here in New York.

Can my day get any worse?

Coming straight from the depths of slumber, I take a few minutes to process reality. Maybe the knocks were in my head. Did I dream about someone knocking on my door? Perhaps it’s

The sun’s still not up yet, why am I?

Groggily sitting up, I decide to check the time, yet it takes me multiple attempts to grab my phone in the dark before I catch a sight of the time.

2 am?!

Who is so out of their minds so show up to my apartment at this time? Who do I know that would show up at this time?

James is too sensible for that,

Angie would never waste her time on me, for whatever reason,

And Y/N—

well.

I don’t know our circumstances right now.

I debate whether or not I should answer the door. Perhaps it’s just rock that happened to hit the door of my apartment, and even if it is a person, I’m not aware of anyone so mad to show up in the middle of the night. it’s not worth my time.

...

Knock! Knock! Knock!

So much for ‘Not worth my time’. A groan is all my body can respond with while I gradually stand from the comfort of my bed. I grab the nearest shirt, which was draped over my desk chair, and scramble to put it on. Passing my cramped kitchen, my hands subconsciously flip on the nearest light switches, while my eyes struggle to comprehend the sudden light.

Before I reach the door, I couldn’t help but attempt to fix my hair. Just because someone happens to show up outside unannounced doesn’t mean I can’t present my best rendition of a southern gentleman.

And finally, through my fatigue and irritation, I’m finally urged to grab the doorknob and twist it open in one motion.

“Uh, it’s two a.m. so I hope--”

I nervously scratch the back of my head, attempting to add spice to this awkward encounter. It wasn’t until my eyes caught sight of the blood dripping down her glass skin and the meeting of our eyes did I have any words

“Y/N?!?”

Her cold, pale, and hurt body would’ve hit the concrete floor if I had answered the door any later.

---

And there she layed half colorless on my bed. Her smile was full of embarrassment and gratitude as I sat beside her, tending to the evident cuts and Injured areas of her body. “I hope I’m being a great house guest” she joked, causing her to laugh, yet hurting herself in the process.

“Hey, Hey, Take it easy..” Y/N’s presence usually fills me with carefreeness, or perhaps stability, but for the first time I can’t help but react seriously. Her demeanor changed as she saw my retaliation to her joke.

“I guess…” she looked down to her fragile body, a sigh released, seeming to be an attempt to calm down. “...I owe you an explanation for earlier. And especially for showing up at your place at 2 in the damn morning. ”

Thomas’ hands, full of wipes and hydrogen peroxide soaked cotton balls, froze in their tracks before he looked up at her, eager to listen and visibly confused. Y/N visibly winced as the cotton balls stuck to her cuts for longer than they should’ve, yet with Thomas’ reflexes at their all-time-max, he pulled them away with a worried expression.

“Explanation? You said you got a job, and I’m sorry for not respecting it..” I continued to clean her up, consensually of course, how could I call myself a gentleman if I were to act upon improper motives?

“Again..” I utter quietly “..I didn’t know you felt that way, and I’m ashamed you feel that way”

I attach an ivory-colored band aid to her glass skin, careful not to damage it any further. I look up to her watching, pitiful eyes. “You were saying?” I reciprocate the attention to her, awaiting a so-called answer to come out of her mouth

“I didn’t know where else to run to..” she attempted to sit up, lifting her weight off of my satin-covered sheets, yet quickly stopped when being hit with a wave of pain from her right shoulder

Though my first thought would’ve been ‘Damn it, my darn sheets are ruined’, it was quickly drawn to Y/N and her current problem

“Y’know, I think an apology and explanation can wait, Y/N. you need a little sleep, it’s already three in the mornin’ for god’s sake” a small laugh erupts from her

I sent her an assuring smile, trying to remind her that everything is always going to be okay in a Jefferson household. And surprisingly I received a smile in return, a smile of trust and security that I’ve never felt so glad to see. Of course, I wish I could’ve seen that smile under different circumstances, but I’ll work with what I got.

I stood from my beautiful satin sheets and reached for a hoodie on my swivel chair. (everything but your closet is a closet, change my mind) I braced for a cold night on my apartment couch while Y/N enjoys the warmth of my bed, but Y/N had other plans.

“Wait- Thomas.” She said firmly

I turned tiredly to her direction, my arm already extended for the door, yet frozen in place as I awaited a response

“Can you just..” she scoot herself over, as much as possible with her frail body “..hold me?” She watches me anxiously

“I mean— you don’t have to b—” I didn’t hesitate at all to gently slide under the sheets of the bed. As soon as I turn to her direction, I can’t help but feel scared to touch her in fear of hurting her; my hands don’t know where to reside. “Where do I..” I’m truly perplexed

She giggled at my confusion and shyly grabbed my hand “I’m not so fragile you know”

She brought my hand up to the side of her head, and all I could process was the texture of the bandages under my fingertips. I don’t know what's going on, but I couldn’t just leave her out there.

“..Right..” I wait for her eyes to close before I can even think about closing mine, and soon the texture of the bandages seem to melt onto my fingertips as I’m finally able to return to my slumber.

“See you in the mornin’..”

---

I didn’t wake up until I felt the sun rays kissing my back through my so-called ‘blackout curtains’. Such a scam. The room seemed a little too quiet; I gently turned onto my other side just to find an empty bed. I consider the possibility of last night’s encounter with Y/N was all just some messed up dream, but when I saw the faint stains of blood on my sheets, I knew I was far from dreaming.

My body doesn’t want to move, and I’m stuck sitting up in my bed for another ten minutes. What the heck is going on? One minute she yells at me, then next thing I know she’s outside my apartment at 2 am.

And that explanation.

I guess I was such a fool to think she wouldn’t continue to run away from this matter. My thoughts are interrupted by my buzzing phone. I know for sure that it’s not Y/N hittin up my phone right about now.

James: Let’s try that new coffee place a few blocks from your apartment?

He really read my mind, or maybe it’s a response made from calculating my failure yesterday. But a distraction sounds tremendous.

Thomas: bet.

I throw on a cleaner, more professional jacket, if such a thing exists, and swiftly get my feet out the door. Everything seems the same, as if nothing had taken place last night. The world still spins and I’m expected to spin with it.

I don’t think I’m anywhere near capable of unraveling your mystery.

Y/N L/N, I will never understand you.

#thomas jefferson fanfic #thomas jefferson #Daveed Diggs #daveed x reader #thomas x reader #alexander hamilton #hamilton fanfic #hamiltonau #Angelica Schuyler #james madison #marquis de Lafayette #lafayette x reader #lafayette #george washington #washington #John Laurens #hercules mulligan #thomas jefferson x reader

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starlocked01 · 4 years ago

Note

“I think you might be my soulmate.” I'm a sucker for soulmate Analogical.

How about platonic soulmates??? :D Gosh this one decided to go real sweet <3 thank you, Ace!

Ten Thousand

Soulmates were exceedingly rare, but legends told that the ten-thousandth time you looked your soulmate in the eye their aura would glow bright colors for you.

For the socially anxious child stepping into a room of screaming kids and flying toys, looking anyone in the eye once seemed like a monumental challenge. So with no thoughts of the old stories, Virgil glanced around the room and found the other quietest kid, and planted himself firmly just outside an acceptable personal space bubble.

Logan looked up at the newcomer and for the briefest moment, their eyes met. He nodded once at Virgil and once at the blocks he was sorting by color, size, and shape before continuing with his task.

Virgil quickly found the darkest color blocks he could and began to build a small wall, careful to not mess with any of the other piles. They played quietly like that most of the day.

When Virgil’s mama came to pick him up from daycare, he waved goodbye and their new friendship was firmly established.

Logan and Virgil saw each other every day at daycare, slowly learning each other's names and favorite games and snacks and bugs and music and books and stories.

"You've heard about soulmates, right, Lo?"

"I don't believe soulmates exist. Scientifically, the odds of meeting your soulmate are trillions to one."

"Trillions sounds like a big number," Virgil muttered, biting a cheese stick in half.

"It is a big number. And even if you met them, it would take years to look them in the eye ten thousand times. My dad says nobody looks at anybody anymore 'cause of technology," Logan sounded so perfectly condescending that Virgil had to giggle but it came out as a snort first that made Logan giggle.

"Listen, sweetie. I know school seems scary. Mom and I both know Mx. Campbell very well and they're not going to let scary things happen, okay? They'll watch out for you, little Stormcloud."

***

"Mom, my stomach hurts. Do I hafta go to kindagarten?" Virgil moaned from the back seat. His mom shared a look with his mama who turned around.

Virgil nodded and tried to swallow down the nervousness that was twisting his stomach in knots. When Mom led him to his classroom, he scanned the other students and lit up seeing a familiar face.

"Logan!" Virgil ran and claimed the desk next to his friend and knew Kindergarten would be alright.

Anyone who didn't know them before high school would have assumed the straight-A's nerd and bitterly sarcastic emo were unlikely friends. Too many people assumed they were dating for Virgil’s comfort, but the rumors never drove a wedge between them. After classes and weekends were always spent together.

***

Logan was one of only a few constants in Virgil's life. They knew each other’s quiet ways. They always saved seats for each other and spent recesses testing Logan’s theories or people watching from the swings. By middle school, Logan was one of a very select few that Virgil still trusted to look him in the eyes and tell him the truth. Virgil found he often needed that truth. Logan was an anchor for him when everything around them and including them was changing.

Instead of Homecoming, Logan took Virgil stargazing, each bundled up against the cool autumn night. After a while, Logan met Virgil’s eyes and confessed he actually was gay. Virgil nodded because he was too. They didn't kiss, they just turned back to the stars.

The day before Thanksgiving, the shop was dead inside and all Virgil wanted was for the clock to hit closing time so he could go home. He sighed heavily when the front door chimed, looking up from his phone and into a familiar pair of eyes.

***

Logan went out of state to study chemical engineering at his dream university while Virgil found a job at the local record store. Every Thursday they video chatted to talk about Virgil’s on again off again punk of a boyfriend and shitty customers, Logan’s classes and a rather flirty English major he was trying to ignore. Virgil felt hollowed with Logan so far away, but the last thing he wanted was to do was make Logan feel guilty for pursuing the life he wanted.

"Logan? You're home!" Virgil grinned with excitement and almost missed the confusion radiating from Logan’s face.

"Virgil… I think you might be my soulmate!" Logan sounded astonished, staring at him with wide-eyed wonder and Virgil couldn’t help but grin.

"I thought you didn't believe in soulmates," Virgil teased as he stepped around the counter to hug his friend, but as he did, he noticed it too.

A steady blue aura glowing around Logan, perhaps difficult to see in the low light of the shop, "oh my god… I think you're right…"

Logan wrapped Virgil in a tight hug and wouldn't let him go, even when the front door chimed again.

"Shit, did we break up again or are you cheating on me, Vi?" Remus shuffled into the store, not quite sure what to make of the pair.

"Remus! This is Logan, my best friend since forever, and.. apparently my soulmate," Virgil pulled back from the hug with a grin to introduce the two.

"Oh… soulmate? Well.. um, what does that mean for us? I'm cool with threesomes if you two are," Remus smiled a cocky smile.

"Uh… could we talk about it after work? Logan, you should come over for dinner! We can catch up and figure this out."

"Actually, the reason I'm in town," Logan gulped, "I don't think I can do dinner, I'm supposed to be staying with Roman."

"Wait, you're the nerd he's been pining for all semester?" Remus interrupted and ran back outside, pulling an aggravated man from his car and into the shop, "Virgie, your soulmate found my brother!"

"Get off me! By Odin it's bad enough- wait did you say soulmate? I thought those were a myth," Roman stared at his crush and brother's boyfriend.

"I believe we'll all figure this out together," Logan smiled at his best friend and Virgil grinned right back. Ten thousand and one.

Tag List (ask to be added): @coaltail121 @internetinternalmonologue @logans-library @marshymoop @mouse2004 @fearforthestorm @sirprplsnail @thishappens30timesaday

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #platonic analogical #background dukexiety and one sided logince #soulmate au #Ace this was really cute to write thank you 💜💙#cursing #kid sides #human au

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navegandoaciegas · 4 years ago

Text

Sunshine Girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: fluff, soft!Bucky, mentions of injury (no graphic descriptions), 3.6k words

Summary: You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish he wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.

Two years ago you were supposed to enjoy a solo road trip after years of Avenging, but Bucky invited himself along. Now you’re forced back to New York, and your boyfriend is ready to surprise you once again.

A/N: Bucky’s POV. Sequel to I love my baby to death, but I suppose you could read it on its own. As always forgive any mistakes, English is my third language.

Had to repost this cause it didn’t show up in the tags, hopefully this time it will

“I swear Buck, if I see one more damn corn plant I’m losing it. I am this close” you say pinching your thumb and pointer finger real close “to a mental breakdown. I’m never eating corn again, mark my words. No corn flakes, no corn on the cobble, no nothing. I’m done.”

“We’re in Iowa, in the middle of the corn belt, I don’t know what you were expecting.” he replies, slightly amused by your little outburst and sour mood.

“Well, clearly not ending up on the set of Children of the corn.” you groan, getting back to sulking in the passenger’s seat, seething at the fields that are only a scapegoat to the real problem.

You’d been merrily skiing in Montana when his skis got somehow tangled with yours and he tumbled down on you, dragging you down the slope. Hadn’t you injured yourself, rolling in the snow like it only ever happens in cartoons would have been pretty comical.

“What?” you screech, almost jumping off the stretcher and grimacing in pain when your left foot hits the metal poles at the side. “No. It’s just pain, I’m sure it will go away, right? I mean I was an Avenger, I’ve suffered worse than a fall.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but knee surgery will be necessary, the MRI here shows you’ve torn your ACL and from the looks of it, your left knee was already damaged badly, numerous times at that, probably a result of your time on the field.”

“I can’t, I can’t just get surgery, we’re miles away from home and I-”

You’re almost sobbing and Bucky feels like shit because he’s the reason for all this and all he can do now is pat your back reassuringly.

“Given the extent of the damage, I’m afraid there’s no other option.”

“How long is the recovery time?” he asks, voice unsure.

“Well, it’s my knowledge she’s not an enhanced individual, so like any average human it will take anywhere from 6 to 9 months to recover fully. In the meantime, no more hikes or sports.”

Bucky inhales a sharp breath. Six to nine months. No more hikes. Surely you’ll have to go back to New York.

God, you are so going to break up with him.

Turns out you didn’t dump him in Montana, you didn’t abandon him in one of those auto stops along Interstate 90 in South Dakota, and you don’t seem to want to break up with him amidst the green fields of Iowa, but still, he knows he will drive through Illinois, Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It almost seems like a cruel twist of fate, driving the same route you did as friends two years ago, along Interstate 80 headed East instead of West, only this time he’s not hoping to be more than the annoying old man who invited himself on your trip; he’s your boyfriend now, but maybe not for long.

“You know, you really are dramatic.” you say in a teasing tone, “I’m not going to break up with you, stop thinking about that, it was an accident, ‘s not like you beat me.”

“I know, I’m just sorry because you’re in pain and it’s my fault and now we have to get back home but I know you wanted to stay more and I did too and if I didn’t-” he’s rambling, and your place your hand on his thigh and squeeze reassuringly, offering him one of those sweet smiles he dies for.

“Buck, it’s okay” you interrupt his word vomit “like I said a million times before, it was an accident, it’s going to be fine I promise. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise with my mood, I swear I’m just pissed at all this damn corn. We’re never going to a maze again, by the way.” That gets a laugh out of him, and he loves you even more because you’re always there to lift his spirits. “I’m dreading these next months, the surgery, physiotherapy and all, but I know you’re there for me, yes?”

He nods, teary eyed, and you continue, “And I can’t lie, it’s been a while, I’m kind of excited to see everyone again, I mean except for Sam of course,” you say, as if he didn’t “live rent free in your head”, like Sam himself put it, “Jesus that man, how many of our trips has he invited himself on? I’ve lost count. ‘Member when we found him waiting for us in Phoenix? Fuckin’ weirdo.”

You both chuckle at the memory of Sam in your motel room, waiting on your bed with crossed arms like a disappointed parent, pissed off because you hadn’t called in a week and he was worried sick that something may have happened to you, a deadly sniper, and him, the Winter fuckin’ Soldier. Truth is, Bucky was so excited about your new relationship that he rarely let you leave the bed when you were in your room, and when you did you were in no condition to Facetime anyone, with your smudged mascara and swollen lips.

“I’ve heard Clint will come visit us with Laura and the kids. Nathaniel must be so big now.” you add, your eyes glazed over as you think of the little boy who was named after your Natasha.

“God, Morgan is probably all grown up.” he muses, a tinge of sadness in his voice. You squeeze his thigh again. “And the spider kid too, he’s a grown man now.”

“That he is.” you chuckle, “But to me he’ll always be the boy in the red spanx who knocked us on our asses in Berlin.”

He smiles and shakes his head at the memory, and you both fall in a comfortable silence. Now that he’s not consumed by fear anymore, Bucky kind of agrees with you that all this green is, in fact, nauseating.

“You know what, no more popcorn either.”

“Deal.”

A year and something ago

Arizona

“Can you believe there’s a city in New Mexico called Truth or Consequences? We should totally go and visit just for the hell of it, sounds like the type of place Steve Rogers should have been born into.” you state with all the seriousness in the world, and he snorts because after all this time you still haven’t found it in yourself to stop mocking Steve’s righteousness.

You’re walking ahead of him and he’s so distracted by your tiny denim shorts that he, the master of stealth, almost trips over a boulder. You’re always pretty but tonight, illuminated by the orange sky of Arizona, you look like a dream. And you’re so happy, snapping photos at everything you see, that even if Bucky hates the desert and the heat makes him uncomfortable, he won’t tell you, because the look on your face makes it all worth it.

“Baby, look at this big boy here, he’s like 20 feet tall. Oh my god, he’s so cute and beefy, just like you.” you gush at one of the giant cactuses of Saguaro National Park.

He raises his eyebrows skeptically.

All he sees are green spiky motherfuckers that he’s accidentally hurt himself with more times that he’d like to admit in all those damn ‘hikes’ you like so much, but to you cactuses are the most beautiful sight in the word. He genuinely does not see the appeal, but he understands now how you feel when he talks about all his ‘nerd shit’, as you call it.

“I’m cuter.” he says frowning.

“Of course you are.”

For some reason you don’t sound convincing at all.

It’s only spring but here in Tucson the temperature is 85 degrees today and he’s sweating buckets underneath the long sleeved t-shirt he’s wearing to conceal his vibranium arm. He’s long past the time when he was forced to hide from authorities or the general public’s judgement, but still he doesn’t want to be recognized and attract attention. He doesn’t do well with crowds, and he doesn’t understand how you can be so calm and collected when people stare at you and ask for photographs while you’re minding your own business.

As soon as you get back to the motel you’re staying at he takes off his soaked shirt, not caring that the air conditioning is probably going to end his old ass.

“What the hell happened to you?” you ask, scowling as you analyze the skin around his prosthetic.

He shrugs. “It happens sometimes.”

“Why?”

“No idea.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ lie to me James.”

You only call him that when he’s in big trouble. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose: why do you have to be so damn stubborn all the damn time? “It’s nothing sweetheart, just sometimes the skin becomes flared when it’s too hot.”

“Nothing?” you shrill, throwing your hands around animatedly, “Nothing? Bucky your whole shoulder is super red and irritated, don’t act like it’s normal. We’ve been in the sun for hours, for days really, why didn’t you tell me anything? I would have driven us back here immediately. Does it hurt?”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to ruin your fun, you liked it so much there. And no, it only itches a little.”

Your eyes soften and you move to cup his face in your hands, looking at him with so much love that he feels himself melt away into a puddle, “Baby you don’t need to do that, you know I care more about you than anything else.”

“Even more than the cactuses?”

“Well, now you’re asking too much of me.”

He snorts and playfully hits your arm, then he falls back on the bed and drags you down with him. You stay cuddled like that for a while before you pull back to look into his eyes.

“I appreciate you doing this for me Buck, but you don’t ever need to sacrifice your own comfort for me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry. But you looked so happy.”

“Don’t be, and I’m always happy with you, I promise.”

“I’m always happy too.”

“We’re such saps. Gross. Anyways, guess where we’re going next?” you ask him cheerfully, scratching his scalp the way that makes him purr like a cat.

“The plan was New Mexico, Texas and Louisiana, right?” he frowns. You’d made plans together ages ago and you were so excited about visiting Texas of all places for God knows what reason. He’s predicted already that he won’t stand the suffocating, humid heat of that whole area. At least Arizona was dry as hell.

You on the other hand, everyday he’s become more aware of how much of a lizard you are, seeking the sun and walking around in the scorching heat not even breaking a sweat.

“Guess again baby boy, we’re going straight to Oregon. I mean, it's not Alaska but it’s not as hot as the desert here, right?

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to overheat?” you state like it’s obvious, rolling your eyes, “We’ll do New Mexico and the rest next fall, and now Oregon and Washington because it’s a little cooler there. So what do you say?” You ask with a hopeful look in your eyes.

“Princess I appreciate you doing this for me, but I promise I’ll be fine. You don’t have to change plans for me, this is your road trip.”

“No you won’t Buck, you’re not doing good and I don’t ever want to see you suffer, you understand? By the time we get to Texas it will be summer and you won’t stand it, it’s better if we visit when it’s colder.”

He smiles softly. He knows he’d do the same for you. “Then Oregon it is.”

You get up from the bed and head to the bathroom to shower, “Oh, and baby?” you call out, peeking your head from behind the door, “This is your road trip too, never forget that.”

Oregon

“Why does Thor get to have places named after him and we don’t? We were Avengers too.”

“But are we norse gods?”

“I mean, not yet, but I definitely deserve some nature’s wonder, or at least a star, to be named after me.”

“I’ll call WMO and get them to name a hurricane after you, princess. It seems more fitting.”

“Asshole.”

You’d been camping somewhere in Oregon’s wilderness when he came up with the idea of visiting all of the State’s so called seven wonders, starting from Thor’s Well on the Coast and ending in Mount Hood near Portland. You took a thousand photos of each attraction and sent a video of the water seemingly draining inside the famous well to the God himself, who enthusiastically expressed his appreciation.

Bucky’s cherished every minute of it, from the hot springs of Crater Lake to the chillier temperatures at night that force you to snuggle closer to him to warm up.

You’re in Portland now, and you’re thoroughly enjoying it, but what’s new about that? You’re always so full of life, so genuinely excited about everything the world has to offer that he’d be worried if you weren’t having the time of your life as you usually are.

He likes the city too, which is saying a lot.

“Blueberries are the superior berry and that’s the hill I’m willing to die on.”

You’ve been eating your way through Portland for weeks, and you’ve been discussing pies for a solid thirty minutes now. It’s raining outside and you’re cooped up in a small pie shop, eating more than an average human can and receiving weird looks from the waitress as you tell her to ‘keep ‘em coming’.

“I’m sorry but you’re wrong princess,” he states with a stuffed mouth just for the sake of aggravating you to no end, “blackberries are just so much better.”

It works as you grimace in disgust, both at his statement and his manners.

He’s found out you are weirdly opinionated when it comes to pies: pecan pies are an abomination, pumpkin doesn’t belong in dessert, lemon pie and key lime pie are only acceptable if someone’s grandma is kindly offering them to you, rhubarb pie without strawberries is a threat to mankind and cherry and blueberry pies are the absolute best. Apple pie is too bland to even take the time to discuss it, although the taste is likeable enough.

He on the other hand likes anything pie and anything sweet. And anything that gets a rise out of you.

“Please Buck, this isn’t even a blackberry pie, it’s some sort of inbred experiment that turned out kinda right.”

He shushes you, barely holding back a laugh when he sees the waiter side eyeing you as you disrespect one of Oregon’s most famous dishes, “First of all, it’s called marionberry and it’s a type of blackberry. And second, keep it down unless you want us to be kicked out, you’re offending a whole state.”

“Sorry.” you shrug, “But blueberry tartness level is where I draw the line, anything more than that is unacceptable.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re still a child and haven’t developed adult taste buds yet baby.” He does love his senior citizen card a bit too much.

This earns him a kick under the table and a scowl. “Stop it, grandpa.” you groan.

He grins and digs in your slice of marionberry pie. You resume to people watching.

God, he loves Oregon. And he loves you.

He really is a sap.

Wyoming

Washington was nice enough. You’ve taken him bar crawling most nights, and all of them have ended with him giving you a piggyback ride, per your request, back to the hotel room you were staying at.

It takes 13 hours to drive from Seattle to Yellowstone and you’ve driven all the way. You refused to disclose the destination of the trip and he’s fallen asleep the last 3 hours in the car. He’d mentioned he wanted to see the geysers somewhere in Pennsylvania two years ago and you remembered and took him.

Bucky couldn’t be happier.

He’s still describing the constellations above you when you fall asleep, and he’s so absorbed by the sky that he doesn’t notice until your head falls on his shoulder and he hears your soft snores.

He picks you up bridal style and takes you back to the fancy tent he bought on a whim in Ohio after you both slept in the SUV and woke up with major back and neck pain. He smiles as he removes your makeup with a wipe and does your skincare just the way you taught him, and admires your relaxed state.

He grazes your pretty face with his vibranium fingers, something so unimaginable to him before he met you, as he never thought his arm could bring anything other than pain.

Back when he was a semi stable 100 year old man thrust in another fight yet again, he hadn’t realized the extent of his feelings for you, believing he was only attracted to your beauty and youth. He hadn’t seen the way your smile lights up a whole room, nor the way you listen, truly listen, to anyone who may have anything to tell you, without ever judging them. He hadn’t witness your kindness and patience, let alone experienced them on his own skin. He hadn’t been lucky enough to watch you feed bird seed to the ducks of every pond of the country, or try to rescue a cat from a rooftop and almost falling off to save it.

Then Sam told him you were leaving and he felt like the word was collapsing on him. He’d found the sunlight and he never wanted to be without it.

Now he’s seen it all, all the little things that make you who you are, including your flaws, and he loves you not regardless of them, nor in spite of them, but because even your worst imperfections make you… you.

Bucky doesn’t know if meeting you was a way for the universe to fix all the wrongs that have been done to him, a sort of payback for all the shit he’s been put through, but in case it is, then he’s got no objections. And maybe he doesn’t deserve someone as good as you, but he’s a selfish man, and now that his sunshine girl is with him he never wants to plunge back into the the darkness ever again.

He tucks you both under the sleeping bag and snuggles next to you.

“Buck?” you mumble in a haze, tugging at his t-shirt, “Love you.”

It’s almost imperceptible, but his supersoldier hearing allows him to pick it up. He kisses the crown of your hair as he caresses your back.

“I love you too sweetheart.”

He wants to spend the rest of his time on Earth proving you how much.

New York

6 months later

The doctor wasn’t lying when she warned you that recovery would take 6 to 9 months.

You said the aftermath of the operation hurt like a bitch and that physiotherapy hurt even more. Today’s your last session and Bucky is glad about it for many reasons, like how you’re not in pain anymore for starters, and maybe because of how annoyingly fun, smart and hot your therapist is. Not like he’d ever admit it to you.

“Jesus,” you groan, “he turned me inside out like a sock, I can’t feel my legs anymore.”

“Sounds fun.” he deadpans.

“Someone’s jealous of the doctor?” you ask with a mischievous smirk.

“‘M not. He’s not all that.” he mumbles, blushing like a school boy.

You snort and drawl a ‘sure’. He sends you his best death glare.

“Whatever. I hope you don’t mind if we take a stop before going home.” he announces, helping you into the car. His palms feel clammy and he’s sweating despite the chilly winds of New York’s fall.

“Sure, where are we going?”

“Actually, that’s kind of a surprise, you’ll see.”

You beam at his words; he knows you love surprises and he hopes you’re going to like this one.

----

You look radiant as you lie on the blanket he’s spread on the grass, surrounded by colorful foliage. You’re sipping some of your favorite wine and nibbling on crackers as you admire a flock of birds migrating south in the sky.

You are the sun and he’s simply basking in your light. And he’s so selfish, he thinks as he holds the velvet box with the diamond ring inside of it, he’s so damn selfish we wants to keep the light all to himself for the rest of his life.

He’s prepared a long, passionate speech to tell you how much he loves you, of all the ways you’ve changed his life for the better and of all the reasons why he’d be a good husband.

But when you look at him with those bright eyes and beaming smile, he can barely remember his own name. He drops on one knee and holds the box out with shaky hands.

“Marry me, please.”

----

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please reblog and comment, don’t be shy, feedback is always appreciated 🥺🤲

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n

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skullchicken · 4 years ago

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On the 30.04.2021, Meinhart Bonifaz Brant, at that point an unassuming spindly 15-year old human reading Stanislaw Lem's "Star Diaries" on the living room couch, goblinized into a giant. About 50 years later, he would go on a few adventures under the street name "Alberich" (you see, it's very funny because he's not a dwarf).

In honor of goblinization-day, I'm compiling all of the art and (hopefully entertaining) stories I have of mah boi and the chicago shadowrun-group - so these are going to be some long posts. Everything under the cut so I don't clog up your dashboards and cut up into chunks. If you don't want to see it, blacklist "goblinization".

Part 1, the first mission:

So, why is Alberich? When I joined the shadowrun-group that would start my obsession, my english conversational skills weren't that great. Mostly trouble finding words and having a really thick german accent. Since I was a bit self-conscious about that, I decided to instead lean into it. Thus Alberich was a german-born ex-museum director turned shadowrunner since he did a Very Stupid Thing and had to leave the Allied German States for Chicago.

What did he do? He made a deal with a dragon. Specifically, he sold a forged piece of art to Lofwyr, CEO of Saeder-Krupp.

Alberich was introduced into the already formed group something like this: "At the entrance of the building, arriving punctually, you spot the biggest troll you've probably ever seen, looking very uncomfortable to be here and slinking as much as is even possible. All in all, he somehow doesn't look very threatening. In fact, he looks as if an art teacher had been stuffed with a 3 meter/10 feet tall horned giant. His face lights up as he sees you, though."

So the first thing he does is shake everyone's hand, politely assuring them that it's a pleasure to meet them and yes, he is Alberich, and who are you? Ah, yes, lovely names, very creative.

For reference, this is the average shadowrun-group:

Speaking of which, the gang's line-up did change a bit unfortunately, but the ones that stayed from beginning to end were:

Speedrun, street-samurai. An adrenaline-junkie who has styled himself after anime. Very much trying to be cool, to the point that he has adopted a deep-sounding voice that's rather obviously not his natural speaking voice. We pictured it as him talking with his head on his chin. Here he is, trying to impress the fighting adept shere khan:

Elf_Queen, decker and elf-poser. An elf-poser is someone who tries very hard to be elf-like - in her case, she wanted to actually *be* an elf. She ran away from home since her parents were metahuman-racists (Humanis policlub). Notably, her online and offline persona were very different. Online, she's very assertive and the guild leader of an mmorpg. Offline however, she's pretty much scared of anything. When Alberich joined the group, she hid behind Speedrun - you don't live with humanis for that long without picking up some xenophobia as well. And trolls aren't well-liked in the game world.

So the first mission: De-kidnap a kidnapped singer called Jericho. First we took a look at the bus-line she had last taken, a task for which Elf_Queen had to jack into said bus. Only three problems: A) She had to get behind a metal covering inside the bus B) her character sheet is min-maxed to hell and back, thus she has ONE measly point in strenght. Which wouldn't be a problem since she's in the presence of three pretty strong dudes if not for C) Massive Social Anxiety.

After looking around like a wet bunny for 5 minutes, Alberich (who has also cramped himself into the bus) finally catches on and goes "... can I help you, little lady?", pops the cover open and she can get deckin'. You might call this strike 1. You'll see why.

After visiting her appartment and some more investigation, we gather that Miss Jericho has been taken away into a bunraku (think brothel but with more brainwashing) to be re-programmed to the liking of her ex-boyfriend whose band she left to make it on her own (and quite successfully so). Which means we'll have to deal with Yakuza.

The bunraku turns out to be disguised as a night club. After I tried and failed to casually infiltrate the place (... I... er... wasn't a very good player at first?) we had to flee forwards, take out the guards at the door and make sure we get in and out of there as soon as possible.

In the club, almost before we made it backstage, Elf_Queen got held up by a guy bent on talking to her and froze up. Well, at least until Alberich very casually bent over the two of them and informed the guy that "she's with me". I tell you this, because this was strike 2.

Backstage, past a kitchen and into the cellar, we finally got into a room with two rows of plexi-glass cells - and in the middle, a bound spirit, a thing that feeds on negative emotions. Our muscle (Speedrun and Baba Yaga - yes, we had a John Wick in our midst. And yes, Alberich technically doesn't count as muscle, he's a mage. It's complicated) were outside, fighting off Yakuza. So it was up to EQ to hack Miss Jericho's cell open as quickly as possible and for me to make sure she wouldn't die while doing so.

After like three rounds of unsuccessful banishing (as I said... not a good player), the cell was open. But...

But.

There were the other victims.

What about the others?

Now, when I thought up Alberich, my core idea was "Daryl Whitefeather and Don Corleone having a mental fistfight". I tend to play good characters and this time around, to honor the setting I set out a morally grey character, someone who mostly looks out for himself and only indulges in kindness when he has the luxury to do so. Being kind and polite, if you think about it, is really just usually the easiest and most pleasant way to get people to do what you want. And if people are convinced you're scary by nature, seeming less so is just a smart survival strategy.

But then he looks at this little socially anxious nerd, who very much reminds him of himself, when he used to be a little socially anxious nerd, long, long ago and she says with big eyes "please! can you give me a bit more time? We need to save the others! We have to try!" and it's just... strike three. He's taken the little decker into his heart. So internally he goes "welp, I'm old anyways" and externally he shrugs his mana-burned shoulders, sighs "okay" and keeps trying to banish.

Unfortunately the spirit almost eats him alive. EQ fails to open any more gates, so they make it out once he as but 2 life points left, run into the elevator and evade the fast approaching small army of Yakuza on the way out.

Elf_Queen jumps into his arms, Alberich holds her like one might hold a chihuahua, Baba Yaga is trying to gauge their time and speedrun's reporting back from outside.

In the end, it was bittersweet. Because while we did save Miss Jericho, the brainwashing still took hold. Her last 1 1/2 years of life wiped away, she asked for her ex-boyfriend as soon as she woke up.

End of Part 1, thank you for reading this very self-indulgent text!

#shadowrun #goblinization #troll #mage #shaman #decker #baba yaga #john wick #cyberpunk #ttrpg

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lenskij · 3 years ago

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The StoryGraph's Translation Challenge 2021 - a reflection

Today I just finished this 10 prompt reading challenge! I had so much fun doing it, especially since I’ve for years wanted to expand my reading beyond the same old and familiar I’ve been reading until now, but I didn’t come around to actually do it until I came across The StoryGraph's Translation Challenge 2021.

The rules are: pick a book for each prompt that has been translated from a language that isn’t English. For myself, I added another rule - it can’t be translated from any language I speak, either. I also wanted to find an individual book for each prompt - if there was a book that would fit in two prompts, I counted it for only one of them and chose another for the other.

I wanted to share my little translation journey with everyone here, hence this post. The prompts, what book I chose for each, and my thoughts on them are below the cut!

Also: I’m always on the lookout for non-English books! Bonus points if they’re from outside of Europe ^w^ Hit me up with your recommendations!

1. A translated fantasy or sci-fi novel

Stanisław Lem: Солярис (Solaris) Translated from Polish to Russian by Д. Брускин

This book has been living on my sister’s bookshelf for years, and while I was visiting her I read it. It didn’t impress me in any way, it felt like any regular old sci-fi, although a bit creepy (and just a lil dash of sexism).

2. A book written by a Black woman in translation

Marie NDiaye: La Cheffe (La Cheffe) Translated from French to Swedish by Maria Björkman

This is a lovely novel, even if it focused on French food - and the detailed descriptions reminded me that French food is overrated. I loved the character la Cheffe, it was highly enjoyable to read about her relationship to people and her profession, and the narrator had sweet heart eyes that shined through the text.

3. A translated book originally published before 1950

Choderlos de Laclos: Farliga förbindelser (Les Liaisons dangereuses) Translated from French to Swedish by Arvid Enckell.

This prompt was the easiest to fulfill, and I had several choices for it. I've spoken about this book elsewhere on this here blog - it's morbidly fascinating to read about terrible, terrible people.

4. A translated non-fiction book

Romaric Godin: Klasskriget i Frankrike (La guerre sociale en France) Translated from French to Swedish by Johan Wollin

For this prompt, I went to a local bookstore and asked the seller for help. She had to dig around for a while before she found something that wasn't originally written in English - like she pointed out, most academics choose to write in English, even if they're not native speakers.

I picked this one because I've seen snapshots of the yellow wests in the news, but I know barely any of the context. Although the book is short, it's a pretty detailed overview of recent French economic history, with an emphasis on explaining why and how French neo-liberalism ended up looking like it is today (and why French neo-liberalism is different from the neo-liberalism in the rest od Europe). This tickled my inner economics nerd.

5. A translated novel 500 pages or longer

Isabel Allende: Andarnas hus (La Casa de los Espíritus) Translated from Spanish to Swedish by Lena Anér Melin

Another book that has been sitting on my sister's shelf! I absolutely loved it - a family saga, in a time of social change. Look, my favourite part about any book is when the characters feel like humans, even if they're not relatable, I can still understand them.

6. A book translated from Swedish, Danish, Norwegian, Finnish or Icelandic

Vigdis Hjorth: Arv och miljö (Arv og miljø) Translated from Norwegian to Swedish by Ninni Holmqvist

In my case, it meant a book translated from either Danish, Norwegian or Icelandic (I do have to pepper in the fact that I'm a polyglot, after all). It's my sister who recommended it to me, and she was right when she said this was good! I loved the three separate timelines, the prose, and the family drama.

7. A translated book by a South American author

María Sonia Cristoff: Håll mig utanför (Inclúyanme afuera) Mariana Enríquez: Det vi förlorade i elden (Las cosas que perdimos en el fuego)Translated from Spanish to Swedish by Hanna Axén

What? Two books?? Yes, when I searched the library catalogue it spit out these two - because they have the same translator - and since they both seemed interesting I checked both of them out.

Unfortunately, these are the two books of this challenge that I liked the least. The first one didn't have a premise that worked with me - the main character chose to listen more than she spoke for a year as an experiment, and as an introvert, to whom this is how I've always lived my life, it was hard for me to understand what the big deal was.

The second was just my personal taste - these short stories had bloody ghosts, and ended abruptly without quite resolving the story - that creepiness just doesn't vibe with me.

8. A translated book by a Chinese author

Eileen Chang: Ett halvt liv av kärlek (Banshengyuan) Translated from Chinese to Swedish by Anna Gustafsson Chen

After quite a slow start I suddenly was drawn into this book. It's such a lovely read on when life doesn't always work out the way you want, and you still do your best to be happy. It felt very real, without being a 'happily ever after', or it's opposite of endless tears - that sweet middle ground spot.

9. A book translated from Arabic

Rajaa Alsanea: Flickorna från Riyadh (Banāt al-Riyāḍ) Translated from Arabic to Swedish by Tetz Rooke

I found this when messing around with the "similar books"-algorithm on Storygraph (I've just finished Unmarriageable, and liked it a so much I wanted to find something similar). When this one popped out I noticed the Arabic author name, and checked it out from the library. I've actually never read any book set in the Middle East, and I loved seeing a glimpse of life there (naturally, this isn't a comprehensive illustration - the main characters were all from well-off families). The most interesting thing was how the characters adjusted their behaviour as they travelled between Europe and Saudi Arabia - the social rules are different depending on where you are (and if you meet a fellow Saudi in London, your day is ruined - because suddenly you have to behave in accordance to Saudi rules).

10. A book translated from a language spoken in India

Vivek Shanbhag: Ghachar ghochar (Ghāchar ghōchar) Translated from Kannada to English by Srinath Perur; translated to Swedish by Peter Samuelsson

At first I was cranky about that this is a translation of a translation - but in the acknowledgements I read that it was the author's request that the book is to be translated from English. I assume it's because the English translator already has made the inevitable tradeoffs between language and form, which the author approved, and so the Swedish translator wouldn't have to make the decisions all over again.

This was a short book, just over a hundred pages. It barely had any plot, but it didn't need any - the description of the family members' relationship to each other was juicy enough.

In conclusion

This challenge was a great opportunity for me to also try genres I never would have tried otherwise - I was limited to what my library had, and especially for the smaller languages, it's a limited choice. I've been talking about this translation challenge to everyone I know because I've had so much fun! And the best part is - it's only ten prompts. That means I wouldn't need to scram to finish it in time, even while also reading the regular same old books I do still want to read. While I'm waiting for the 2022 challenge, I'll be doing another round for these prompts - I've already checked out a short story collection originally written in Tamil, and a nonfiction about Syrian resistance originally written in Arabic :)

#liz talks #books #i had so much fun guys!#do give me translation recs :D #look the only thing that brings me joy nowadays are books and talking about books #but i also feel inspired to write an evil onegin essay so maybe im slowly turning back into my old self #for better or worse lol #thank you to everyone who actually read the entire post i do really appreciate it

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platanchorsociety · 3 years ago

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Nancy Drew: Generation two

Here are my mad ramblings about the children the crew have and how the group all fits together. It is very long so I won't clog up your dash with it. Its all under the cut.

Nancy and Ace's children

Nancy and Ace go on to have three children. Ace spends most of the children's childhood as a stay at home dad and freelance hacker. Nancy continues to work as Carson's private detective.

- Katherine "Katy" Rebecca

Nancy and Ace's eldest child

Says she's not a daddy's girl but the computer set up in her room says otherwise

Looks like Lucy Sable

Hacker - learnt much of it from just hanging around her father

Trilingual - English, French and ASL

Second eldest of the gang

Natural leader

She and Tommy (see below) often just assume everyone else knows what their plan is when the two of them communicate so well that they might as well be telepathic

Best friends with Mei (see Nick and George's children)

Extremely driven

Very smart

Cheeky and loves to answer back to her parents

Wants to work for the FBI when she is older

- Thomas "Tommy" Carson

Nancy and Ace's second child and only son

Two years younger than Katy

Born detective

Shakes your hand and knows all your secrets

Looks like his dad but keeps his hair short

Track star

Extremely reckless (Katy always says he's be dead if he wasn't so good at running)

Best friends with Oscar (see Bess's children)

Always teases Katy for being a nerd

Multilingual - English, French, ASL, German, smatterings of Mandarin and enough Latin to get by

Occasionally picks on Lucy (see below)

- Lucy Celia

Nancy and Ace's youngest (five years younger than Tommy) and youngest of the entire group

There was a rumour that her middle name was going to be Florence which confused Ace because they had agreed to get Ryan pick the middle name

Would have been called Ryan Owen if she was a boy

Platanchors with Anna (see Bess' children)

Often left out of mysteries by her siblings (for her own safety)

Often is the one who rats to the parents about any mysteries the new generation is involved in

Loves books, always at the library and will read anything

Bilingual - English and ASL (is trying to learn French as her siblings discuss mysteries in front of her in French)

Is a massive history nerd so is occasionally dragged into mysteries so the others can use her historical knowledge

Nick and George's children:

Nick and George get married first but are hesitant to have children as they don't know how long George will be there. Eventually they decide to have children and have faith they will fix George's condition. They manage to fix it shortly before Mei is born.

- Alex August

Named after the authors of Count of Monte Cristo

Oldest of the group (four months older than Katy)

6 foot tall

Took self defense classes after he was bullied

Pacifist by nature but ferally protective of his sister and 'cousins'

Amazing cook

Often volunteers at the youth centre

Plays guitar

Wants to own his own restaurant one day

- Mei Odette

Nick and George's second child

Was given the middle name Odette and George came to be very grateful for Odette and her decision to let George have a life with Nick. She decides it is a good way to remember her

Katy's best friend

Often at odds with Alex's protectiveness

Tough love to the extreme

Also very protective of the younger kids in her own way

Talented musician, wants to join a band

Is psychic, not to the extent of Victoria but a little. She can see extremely powerful entities but also sense when there is something supernatural nearby which is very useful as an early warning system

Is aware she has an addictive personally so refuses to touch any alcohol or drugs

Bess's children:

Bess ends up falling in love with a personal assistant Carson hires when he starts handling big cases again. They marry and consider using a surrogate before deciding to instead adopt as neither thinks blood matters all that much when it comes to family.

- Oscar Leon

A month and a half older than Tommy

Adopted when he was five years old

Is blond with blue eyes

Boy scout supreme who picks up a new hobby every week

Can't keep a secret

The only child who regularly refers to all the first generation as his uncles and aunts (the others only do it when they want something)

Massively obsessed with space

The groups skeptic - he believes in ghosts but he doesn't jump to ghosts as a solution every time

Tommy's best friend and partner in crime - nearly always getting in trouble with him but Tommy will often risk his own safety so Oscar can escape

- Anna Grace

Adopted when she was three although her parents who were violent criminals, tried to get her back until she was nine

Four years younger than Tommy

Trouble maker

Always plotting something with Lucy

Covered in dirt 90% of the time

Loves the outdoors

Loves to take things apart, not so good at putting them back together

Hates being left out but is willing to take the investigation and go off to follow leads on her own whereas Lucy wants to work with the older kids

Destroys clothes in a week much to Bess' horror

Calls Carson grandpa which he loves but also knows Anna's appearance in his office brings chaos

Age order

Alex

Katy

Mei

Oscar

Tommy

Anna

Lucy

Random assorted facts:

They regularly all go on group holidays. They hire out an eight roomed villa and spend a week or two relaxing. Rooms go as follows: Nick and George; Nancy and Ace; Bess and her partner; Katy; Mei; Alex; Tommy and Oscar; Lucy and Anna

The children always knew about their parents being involved in crime fighting but not about the supernatural. Nick and George told their children after it became clear Mei was somewhat psychic. Nancy and Ace told their children after Tommy was almost killed by a Lamia. Bess told hers after Lucy let it slip to Anna and the two started investigating

Carson at one point considers setting what times Ace and Bess can call by his office as they show up and immediately distract both his investigator and his personal assistant. His plans are stopped when Nancy announces she is pregnant and Carson is grateful for Ace showing up to distract her so she doesn't work too hard

Ryan was the go to baby sitter when the kids were growing up but he had to cap it at four children as any more brought chaos. Charlie and Rebecca became the overflow babysitters

Tommy is the most kidnapped of all the children as he is the one who is most obviously Nancy and Ace's child but also the one who blunders in without thinking up a plan. Oscar, by association, is second. Mei is third. Least kidnapped is Alex.

They all hang out together as a group and generally act like siblings. Bess, Nancy and Ace's children are often mistaken all for one big family, especially when they all treat Carson like their grandfather

Katy is viewed as the leader of the group and the one who comes up with all the plans, not just when it comes to detective work but also meeting up as a group and doing group presents/activities

On account of Katy failing her driving test, Alex was the only one who could drive for a while and there were always squabbles over who got to ride in the car. Tommy and Oscar were often booted out in favour of their little sisters and asked to walk. Tommy didn't mind, Oscar wasn't a fan.

#nancy drew #ace #nace #nancy drew cw #cw nancy drew #ned nickerson #george fan #ned X george #nick x george #nancy x ace #bess marvin #they all have kids #everyone's happy #the kids are all insane but everyone is happy

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imnotwolverine · 4 years ago

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Nerdflirt

Henry Cavill x reader twoshot (1/2)

Word count: 2.768

Disclaimer: tiny, tiny hint of fluff

Summary: There’s apparently a bit more involved than just paint and innocent flirting, when you meet a stranger on Instagram with a shared hobby.

Find the second part here.

This story is based on a prompt I received from @aestheticqueenb

(Link to my Masterlist)

‘Maybe, you can like…I don’t know…find some new hobby or something?’

Your friend had said it more as an after thought during your Zoom chat, but here you were. Thinking yet again if she was perhaps right. A new hobby. It’s not like you hadn’t tried to find some diversion in these strange times. Like. You had ordered some of these picture paint books for adults since they were all the rage, but you had grown bored of them again.

Heck. You had even asked your boss if you could help him out while stuck at home. But apparently the restaurant business was really on its ass and you’d just have to wait for things to settle down and regulations to become less restricting.

This whole COVID-19 thing had initially seemed like a bit of a fad. Like some sick joke that nobody stopped at the right time. It was just a fever, right? Well, apparently…it wasn’t. You could still remember the moment all too well when you were sent home, told to wait for news. Hours passed. Days passed. Weeks passed. But there was no sign of things soon to improve.

And thus you resorted to adult colouring books and sulking away on your desk chair.

Stretching out you pushed the chair away from your desk, the tiny wheels immediately halting as you bumped against your bed. Oh yes, it was also good to mention you were slowly losing your mind because your studio apartment was SOO friggin’ small you couldn’t stretch as much as a foot without bumping into a piece of furniture.

Not a problem when you have a social life. But very much a problem when you hadn’t. Usually you worked a lot, went out with friends, enjoyed to go for a run. And home? Home was just a conveniently placed bed in the middle of London.

Now, however, it was a constricting prison that seemed to strip away your sanity piece by piece.

As had become second nature by now you opened your phone, fingers automatically refreshing the front news page. Scroll, scroll, scroll. No new news. Then your e-mail. No new e-mails. Then perhaps look for some “inspiration” - whatever you needed that for - on Pinterest? Scroll, scroll, scroll. Okay, no, this is dumb. Going back to the mainscreen your thumb hovered over the Instagram button.

You honestly didn’t like the app much. Fake people. Fake fun lives. It just wasn’t your cuppa tea. And yet you never got so far as deleting it since you did enjoy seeing baby pictures of your baby niece.

Okay, fine, maybe there were some new pictures or something. It wasn’t like you had anything better to do and so you opened the app, only to be confronted with a somewhat confusing image. What’s this? A large pair of hands painting an absolutely tiny polystyrene figurine. Why is this on your timeline? Your eyes gazed up, even more confused when you read the name “Henry Cavill” above it. Pfft. Probably some attention whoring from another bored superstar. You shook your head and scrolled on, eventually giving up again.

You groaned, feeling the abyss of utter boredom suck you in once more, your eyes wandering to the world outside. It was sunny, a spotless blue sky, not a cloud in sight. Hilarious, ain’t it? It’s nice weather out in the UK and guess what? You’re stuck inside because the whole world is in lockdown.

So…now what? You just had lunch, your apartment was pristinely clean and you already went for a run this morning. You sighed and turned your chair back so you could awaken your trusty old friend again. Your laptop. Perhaps Google something random? See what you find? The internet’s your friend, right?

Open. Google.

You bit your lip, thinking of something. Anything. But your mind was a blank.

Hmm. Oh. You know what. Maybe it’d be fun to know what kind of fake nerd Henry Cavill actually was.

You opened Instagram again and, of course, his post was back on the top of the timeline. It was almost too easy. #GamesWorkshop #ProperGeek #Custodes. Hmm, probably one of those three tags were the secret. You decided to enter “custodes”, since it sounded the least familiar and hit enter.

Before long you had dived head first into the miraculous world of Warhammer miniature strategy boardgaming and the most ludicrous, but fascinating lore. There was a medieval variant, a sci-fi variant and some ancient Rome and English civil war stuff. All including a well-thought out background story and even more figurines then you could count. Pretty cool figures too, you thought, haphazardly clicking on “order” while scrolling through one of the webshops.

Like it contained some kind of bomb, the mailman sprinted off, leaving the small package behind while you opened your door. Fuck this corona crisis. You couldn’t even..greet the fucking mailman.

Picking up the package you carefully moved it to your desk. Would they be fragile? How tiny could tiny really be? There was only one way to find out, you decided, picking up a pair of scissors and cutting open the small brown box.

Well. Okay. That’s tiny. Tiny tiny tiny. Perhaps you had been a bit too over enthusiastic about just randomly picking up a new hobby. Like..did you even need like special paint for this? Carefully you placed the kit sheets with the hundreds of tiny pieces in them on your desk and bit your lip, deciding what you’d do next. Tiny heads, guns, wings, all stuck in a meticulously thought out grid. Where to start? Perhaps look for some inspiration? Tips and tricks?

The internet is your friend.

Silly as it was you ended up scrolling through Instagram again, this time on the profile of some “SirEltharin” who posted daily updates on his miniature painting. And just like you, he had bought the Retributor Squad from the Adepta Sororitas, the all-female fighter division that were also known as “The Sisters of Battle”. Just thinking how ridiculous that sounded made you chuckle. Were you a nerd too now? Perhaps.

He just posted something new you noticed.

‘These ladies are hard to tame! Oops, painting accident..’ He posted, along with a picture of some smudged paint on one of the figurines. You chuckled, commenting without much of a second thought.

LadyGrim - ‘Well at least you started..I just can’t get myself to paint :X’ - 1 minute ago SirEltharin - ‘No need to be Grim, good Lady. What’s keeping you from starting?’ - 2 seconds ago

Hmm. He responded immediately. A smile reached the corners of your lips as you shrugged and typed again.

LadyGrim - ‘Painters limbo? No honestly it’s my first set and I’m out of my depth here.’ - 2 minutes ago

SirEltharin - ‘Well if large male hands can do it. Surely a Lady can do it too? ;)’ - 30 seconds ago

LadyGrim - ‘Size can be deceiving.’ - 2 seconds ago

Your eyes rested on the screen for a bit, hoping he’d respond, but eventually giving up. Your eyes turned towards the sheets with the figurine parts on the other side of your desk.

Welp, it’s not like anyone could judge you for trying, right?

You painted that whole day, finding it nerve wrecking and meditative all at the same time. You hadn’t even noticed that it was past dinner time, until your stomach really started to growl with hunger.

After cooking yourself a simple pasta dish you sat back on your desk chair, forking the pasta into your mouth while opening your phone to check on any news updates. No news. Mail. No mail. Pinterest? Skip. Instagram. Heck, why not.

*New message from SirEltharin* Hmm. A private message. You didn’t even know that you could send private messages in Instagram, but alas, perhaps you were just a failed millennial.

SirEltharin - ‘Hey :) Guess what? I totally screwed up that figurine and have to do it all over again. Started any painting yet?’ - 2 hours ago

LadyGrim - ‘Perhaps you gave me all your good luck? Just started and..maybe..it actually starts to look pretty cool?’ - 2 minutes ago

SirEltharin - ‘Which one did you start with?’ - 2 seconds ago

Damn, guess it wasn’t just you who was bored to bits. This guy was one fast responder.

LadyGrim - ‘The one with the book? At least, I think…. So many parts..’

SirEltharin - ‘Yea. Requires a bit of strategising hehe. Besides..holy fervour and good faith!’

LadyGrim - ‘So why did you chose the sisters? You’re a guy right?’

SirEltharin - ‘And that’s a problem? ;)’

LadyGrim - ‘No..’

SirEltharin - ‘Honestly though. They’re cool. Strong women.’

LadyGrim - ‘Who got betrayed by the man they promised to serve.’

SirEltharin - ‘Ah you read the lore? Yea..men are dicks haha ;)’

LadyGrim - ‘Can’t agree more.’

You back and forthed throughout the evening. Starting off with some Warhammer 40k related banter, but soon drifting off to talking about the Corona lockdown and the boredom that came with it. SirEltharin didn’t let off a whole lot about himself, which made your imagination run a little wild.

Perhaps it was this “milady” type of guy, that’d tip his hat at you, then grow annoyed as soon as you didn’t immediately fall in love with him. Or, maybe it was this skinny pimple-faced guy who only ever played female characters in games. Or a really, really fat guy. He did say large male hands. Large…could be fat? Or at least chubby? Ugh. What did it matter anyways. Men, you had decided, were always going to disappoint.

SirEltharin - ‘Hey, just curious by the way. Why did YOU decide to start painting?’

LadyGrim - ‘Are you asking just because I’m a girl? ;)’

SirEltharin - ‘Hardly. What do you even think of me?! ;)’

LadyGrim - ‘Okay. Don’t call me an idiot. But this movie star, Henry Cavill? He posted an image and though I absolutely think he’s one of those fake nerd celebrities who are in it for the attention, it did get me interested in the figurines..so..I just ordered and..here I am!’

He stopped responding after that. For the rest of the night. Did you say something wrong or did he just not see your message? Ah..whatever. It didn’t really matter. He was just some stranger on the internet. You started Netflix and crawled onto your bed, wasting away another evening bingewatching How I Met Your Mother.

The next morning he had responded again. Around 5 am. Damn. Nerds ARE night owls, you thought, sipping your freshly brewn cup of french pressed coffee while leaning against your tiny kitchen block.

SirEltharin - ‘Can’t really say that without knowing him, right?’ - 3 hours ago

SirEltharin - ‘Anything in particular wrong with Henry Cavill?’ - 2 hours ago

LadyGrim - ‘Woa woa. No harm meant. Sorry. Guess I just don’t trust ‘em pretty boys?’ - 3 minutes ago

SirEltharin - ‘How’s that so? And good morning, Lady ;)’ - 2 seconds ago

You bit your lip and let out a deep sigh. Oh this man didn’t know what hellfire could come his way, opening THAT topic.

LadyGrim - ‘Good morning ..and..I doubt you’d be interested.’

SirEltharin - ‘You had my curiosity, but now you have my attention.’

LadyGrim - ‘Fine. Let’s just keep it plain and simple. Lied to, cheated on and continuously disappointed. Guess I’ll just have to become a lesbian?’

SirEltharin - ‘Don’t let a few bad ones ruin it for the rest of us. Has it been long?’

LadyGrim - ‘Long?’

SirEltharin - ‘Apologies. I mean. Since you last dated?’

LadyGrim - ‘A year or so.’

SirEltharin - ‘And how old are you? Or am I being too bold asking such a thing?’

LadyGrim - ‘It’s fine. Thirty. Had my birthday two weeks ago. So yea..becoming a bit of an old spinster hehe.’

SirEltharin - ‘Belated happy birthday and..hardly a spinster, right? I mean. I’m 37 and haven’t found anyone yet. Heck. I guess I’m the old spinster here haha.’

LadyGrim - ‘I doubt the same rules apply for men.’

SirEltharin - ‘Trust me. We are all judged.’

Weeks passed and you and Sir kinda started to really get to know each other. You both lived in London - how practical -, were pretty enthused about sports, liked dogs (he had one, you wished you had one) and were close knit with your family. You with your sister, who already had a few kids. And he with his brothers. All with kids. Teasingly you donned each other the nicknames ‘Uncle and Aunty Spinster’.

You knew he had looked on your account. Seen some pictures of you. Even made a few comments on them and liked everything new you posted. But he, SirEltharin, remained mostly a mystery. You tried to talk yourself out of your curiosity, but couldn’t help but lay in bed fantasising about him. The only body part you had seen of him to this point were his hands, and they were actually quite pretty hands. Well manicured nails, strong fingers. It meant he probably wasn’t SUPER fat. So. That’s something.

Eventually the COVID-19 related regulations were becoming less restrictive and for the first time in months you could go back to work. The very news had made you both reluctant - you liked this new rhythm of painting and chatting with SirEltharin -, but also happy. Finally getting out of your tiny apartment, finally getting back to work. It may require some getting used to again, but this was just what you really needed.

In your enthusiasm you posted a picture on Instagram of your work outfit as it lay neatly spread out on your bed sheets. Your boss had made some quirky shirts to celebrate the reopening of the restaurant: “Brunello’s back” was written in fancy white lettering on the back of the shirt. You giggled as SirEltharin liked it within a split second.

SirEltharin - ‘Back to work hmm?’

LadyGrim - ‘Yep. Its all fun and games until the rat race starts again.’

SirEltharin - ‘Sounds Grim ;)’

LadyGrim - ‘You know me too well Sir. Anyways gotta go. Bye!’

SirEltharin - ‘See ya.’

See ya. You always thought it weird when strangers said that at the end of an online chat. Clients sometimes said it at the end of a phone reservation. That was understandable though; they were to come to the restaurant. But complete strangers? There was no such thing as “seeing you around”. However in the case of SirEltharin you were willing to let it slip. He probably didn’t think anything of it.

For a first night it was already quite hectic at Brunello’s. The room, although still far less bustling than usual, was filled. People were obviously eager to pick up their social lives again, the animated chatter of guests zooming around the room while you paced past the neatly spaced white clothed tables. Brunello’s was a rather luxurious restaurant and mostly businessmen and well-to-do families and friends came here to wine and dine. Tonight was special though, as a few celebrities were sitting in the far corner. Including a familiar face: Mr. Cavill, your eyes immediately falling on him as he seemingly was giving you a questioning look.

Perhaps he just wanted to order some drinks, you thought, halting next to the table and offering them your most kind, professional smile - ignoring the curious pair of blue eyes that tracked your every move.

‘Good evening and welcome to Brunello’s. Is there anything I can help you with?’ You spoke, the sentence fluently tipping of your tongue, your eyes wandering slowly over the guests. Most of them were unfamiliar to you. And Mr. Cavill..you tried to just not give him any attention as he was still burning his eyes into you.

‘We actually could use some advice on the wine. We’d like to start white, slightly fruity, perhaps French? Though the Italian one also sounds quite nice.’ A small blonde woman spoke, peering over her menu card.

As this was not your expertise, you called for the sommelier, stepping back to make room for him. And all the while you felt those eyes, gazing at you, almost brazenly. What was up with this Mr. Cavill? Or did you maybe have something funny on your face and did nobody dare to tell you? Shyly you excused yourself, leaving the guests in the capable hands of the sommelier, and quickly made for the women’s bathroom to check your face.

There was nothing out of sort when you looked into the mirror. Strange.

Peeking quickly on your phone, a habit when you were alone, you noticed a new message popping up on your Insta-chat.

SirEltharin - ‘I think we need to talk.’ - 30 seconds ago

Go to part 2

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fluff #warhammer 40k #figurine #miniature #painting #henry cavill x reader #secretcelebrity #undercover #nerdflirt #instagram #retributors #adepta sororitas

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