#and i was surrounded by spanish speakers so much of the time

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Javi’s Playground✨

A/N: Ahhh I’ve been wanting to write a Javi one shot for a while, and I finally got the inspiration after listening to “Sex & Candy” by Marcy Playground. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for helping me come up with a name and beta read so I didn’t chicken out and not post 😘 This is my first time writing Javi, so I’d like as much feedback as I can get 🥰 I tried my best with the Spanish translations.

Summary: Javi decides to blow off some steam at the strip club, but he doesn’t intend to attempt to take one of the dancers home with him.

Pairing: Javier Pena x fem! reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Tags: smut, flirting, Javi goes to a strip club, alcohol, smoking, unprotected p in v, oral, Narcos era, reader is a stripper, reader has long hair, switching POVs, some Spanish (translations at bottom of doc)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The glow of the amber lights swirl above his head as a crystal disco ball spins slowly, throwing its sparkly essence into the crowded strip club. This isn’t his normal place, Paradise Cove. It’s only a distraction, a secret alcove to let go of any thoughts of drug lords, innocent bloodshed, Pablo Escobar, or any traces of misery he’s been holding on to over the past treacherous year. This was a place for forgetting, relaxing the mind, indulging in mere fantasies he could only wish to grasp his torn hands around. So he’d drink, smoke, and indulge in beautiful women in peace on this lonely Friday evening. 

   The red walls are smeared with flecks of sparkles, and the atmosphere is bursting with energy and dim lighting. The cool glass of amber whiskey sits in his hand as he gulps down another swig, letting the burn coat his insides as he flicks the small lighter and lights up another Marlboro cigarette. He lets the smoke surround him, fogging his vision as he inhales the nicotine and lets it sit there dwindling around him in a blur. Just for a couple of seconds, just enough to take the edge off of his growing migraine. 

   He throws his head back and exhales, blowing the smoke out as the music changes over to a tune he knows. “Sex & Candy” by Marcy Playground starts to play from the blaring speakers, the song slowly slipping through his ears as he sits up just a little straighter in the black leather chair. 

   The crowd hollers when the next girl takes the stage, low whistles reverberating off the side mahogany tables as the volume of the music picks up. He doesn’t realize what they’re all making a fuss about until he looks up and sees you. The most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. Esplendida. 

   You’re so radiant, the way you strut across the stage in your crystal clear stiletto high heels as you spin in slow motion, running your fingers through your thick, long curls as you look over your shoulder and flirt with the crowd. Your legs are so long, the curve of your thighs begging to be touched as you sway your hips side to side and get lost in the song.

   And then there she was, in platform double suede. Yeah, there she was. Like disco lemonade.

   He can’t help but grip the damp glass in his hands a little too tight as he spreads his legs wide and relaxes into the plush leather, his eyes glued to you as you slide down the pole gracefully. He wets his lips as his tongue glides across his bottom lip, his cigarette burning his flared nostrils as he oogles the way you please the crowd with every single move you make across the reflective stage. 

   He watches the way you push the swell of your breasts up with your delicate hands, eyes the tiny black lingerie set that barely covers your porcelain skin, assesses the way the lacy thong skims across the curve of your hips, and nearly drowns on his sip of bubbling whiskey as you bend down and show off the thick globes of your ass. 

   Javi sets the half empty glass of alcohol down beside him on the little sturdy table and grabs his denim clad knee as he sinks his nails into the fabric, trying to hold himself together as he listens to the track play through the massive club, watching the way you keep turning and finding his searing gaze. 

   I smell sex and candy here. Who’s that lounging in my chair? Who’s that casting devious stares in my direction? Mama, this surely is a dream. 

   His brown eyes blow wide every time you turn and wink his way, casually flirting as you flip your hair and bite your lower lip, sending him spiraling as he feels the blood rush to his cock in his tight jeans, feeling just how hard he is now as his thick cock presses into the metal of the zipper. It’s like you know what you’re doing, sparkling eyes penetrating his gaze as you flirtatiously bat your long mascara coated eyelashes and eye fuck him from the glowing stage, making sure he’s getting exactly what he came her for. To feel good, to indulge in his fantasies, to make him think you want him. But customers don’t get to take strippers home. That’s not how this business works, not how it’s supposed to run, unless… 

   You slide slowly down the metal pole, ending up on the floor of the lit up stage as you spread your legs wide and tease him just a little as you play with the straps of your panties and press your heels into the floor, giving him a view that just about takes him out. He leans his elbows against his knees, rakes a hand through his thick mustache as he groans into the palm of his hand while sweat sticks to his tanned forehead. 

   He loves the view that’s on display, loves the outline of your pussy as he swears he can see wetness pooling there in between your legs while you sit there and tease him with the biggest smirk on your face he’s ever seen in his life. Those red, plump lips, those glistening thighs that deserve to be kissed, that pulsing core that begs to be lapped up. He can see it now, you splayed out on his bed while he fucks you deep, bottoming out as you scream his name, claw at his tanned skin as you beg for more. He’d take care of you. God he would. And fuck does he want to. Desesperadamente. 

   He can feel the precum sliding against his thick length, can feel just how badly he wants to palm himself through his tight denim as he watches you fall apart on the stage before him. At this point he has no restraint, can barely sit here and watch as you start to crawl on your hands and knees toward him, hypnotizing eyes that lock on his as he leans forward and unfastens the black tie that clings to his button-up white collared shirt. 

   His eyebrows furrow, lips parting unbelievably as you curl your finger and beckon him to come to the side of the stage, your gaze flicking over his figure as he prays you don’t see the erection that’s begging for some kind of release that’d involve hands, or maybe a mouth, a warm tongue…

   He takes another drag of the sweet nicotine and pushes himself out of the leather chair, slowly trudging up to you as he lets his eyes trail generously over your perfect body. When he finally makes it over to the end of the glossy stage, he sees just how beautiful your eyes really are, eyes that were just eye fucking him seconds ago, eyes he’d love to gaze into while he cants his hips against yours roughly. Eyes he could lost in, swim in.

   You smirk his way, letting your hands run through your tousled curls as you flutter thick eyelashes up at him. He digs into the pit of his denim pocket and pulls out a crisp twenty dollar bill as he cautiously slides it inside the lace of your push-up bra, his fingertips grazing the edge of one of your perky breasts as he groans in response. Your skin is so soft, he thinks what you have underneath the lace will be even softer, divine, delicious. 

   You bite your bottom lip flirtatiously and play with the end of his loose tie, letting the silk slip through your fingertips as he watches in a blissed out daze. You could’ve chosen anyone to target, could’ve had attention from any of the sleazy men in this nightclub, but you chose him. The one with the flecks of honey eyes, the one that couldn’t keep his eyes off you for one second, the handsome stranger who must’ve been new to this place. 

   “You new here?” you ask curiously as you eye his stance, watching the way his eyes seem to light with burning fire every time he even dares to look your way. 

   “Been here once or twice before, but this is the first time I’m seeing you, hermosa.” He lets his dark eyes slide down your body, a smirk curling across his plush lips as he leans in closer, until you can smell the tinge of nicotine lacing through his taste buds. “You sure look good up on that stage, amar. Prettiest thing I’ve seen in a city like San Francisco.”

   “Oh? You like what you see?” you blush as you hang your legs off the end of the stage, just enough to brush his thighs as you feel how strong they are. 

   “Oh, I like what I see alright. Jodidamente perfecta.”

   You feel your cheeks burn bright red, feel your thighs clench up as you see how thick his fingers are, how dark and ravenous his eyes look, how hard he is underneath the fabric of his tight jeans. You don’t ever get this wound up about customers, but something about well dressed, smoldering men makes you want to lose all dignity and throw yourself at him. He must be so good in bed. With the way he’s staring at you, all hot and bothered, he may as well just carry you out of this club. Even if it’s technically against the rules. 

   “What’s your name, handsome?” you ask as you brush your heels against the side of his ankles and watch him tense up under your touch. 

   “Javier. Just call me Javi for short, though. And yours, hermosa?” You tell him your name, your real name, not your stripper name, even if that’s against the rules, too. You clearly don’t care about any fucking rules at this point. 

   “Ahh, that’s a gorgeous name. Telling me your real name, yeah? Aren’t you a little rule breaker,” he teases as he cocks up a thick eyebrow and slides his thumb over his lips as he brushes against his thick mustache. You wonder what it’d feel like with his mouth covering your core, his mustache brushing over your swollen clit as he licks and licks until you come apart on his large tongue. 

   You pull yourself out of ridiculous wet fantasies and watch the smoke fall off his tongue. “I live to break rules,” you tease as you pull him closer, catching the end of his black tie as he’s so close now that you can see the embers of brown flecks scatter across his dark eyes. He’s so handsome, you think you want to go home with him. 

   “That right, hermosa?” he asks as he takes another long drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke away from your face as that smug smirk still encases his playful teasing. 

   “That’s right,” you giggle as you gently curl your fingers over the wrist that holds the burning cigarette. 

   He watches you carefully, eyes full of trouble as he puffs out a breath and fills your nostrils with the stench of whiskey and nicotine. “What do you say, hermosa? Wanna take a tour of my bedroom tonight?”

   You carefully snag his lit cigarette from his outstretched hand and slide it in between your crimson lips, taking a slow drag of the cigarette as he watches you with dark, wide eyes and parted lips that shine with the gleam of amber colored whiskey. You gently blow out the smoke in his face and lean forward as you wrap your manicured fingers around his loosened tie. “You can give me money, yes, but what else? I have plenty of money. What is it that you want, handsome?”

   He grabs the cigarette from your open hand and takes a whiff of the nicotine, letting it blow right back into your face as you smell whiskey, smoke, and trouble fill your lungs.

   “Te deseo…” He says it slowly, meticulously like it’s the most sensual thing he’s ever said to a woman before. You don’t know what it means, but it damn sure sounds like you need to say yes. 

   Your eyebrows raise as you smile wide his way. “I don’t speak Spanish, handsome. But I think I want to say yes. Wanna indulge me in what exactly it is you want?”

   He takes another slow drag of his cigarette as he smirks your way. “I want you, hermosa. In my bed, underneath my body, so I can fuck you fast and hard. Wanna rip off that lace and devour your sweet pussy until I have you coming apart on my tongue. Wanna make love to the beauty that stole my heart away tonight.”

   Your breath hitches as you gasp out of breath, not realizing you clutched onto his leather belt and clenched your sticky thighs together as slick pools warmly in your lace. You should’ve known he was a handsome menace the first moment you saw him sitting there with his glass of cold whiskey and lit up cigarette. You should’ve fucking guessed. 

   His body is now too close to yours, chest pressed against yours as you stand shakily off the stage and feel just how bad he wants you through the fabric of his tight jeans. You can see that way his dark eyes flick over yours, feel the heavy breaths coming from his broad chest, smell the stench of trouble and nicotine lacing around your wrists as he slowly grabs a strand of hair and whispers your name into the shell of your ear. 

   It’s almost too much, almost enough to get you fired right on the spot until the music suddenly changes to a Rhianna song, signaling it was time for the next dancer to come out. You abruptly pull away from him as you feel the tension sit thick in the air, almost like a fog takes over and you can’t see anything clearly anymore. 

   It’s your time to go, to mingle with other clients, and he knows that, you can see it in the understanding of those big chocolate eyes that stare adamantly at you. You give him a flirtatious wave and brush up against his large arm as you whisper up to him, “I get off in an hour. Meet me in the back.”

   He watches you saunter off, half smiling as he realizes he got the girl. He never misses, almost never gets turned down, but this one he might want to see again. He can already tell he’ll want you to stick around, maybe even make you his. Maybe he won’t have to walk this lonely, overbearing life alone anymore. Maybe…. just maybe you’ll stay. Maybe he’ll let you stay. Maybe for a night, a month, a year, forever. 

   The smell of sweat covered bodies, vanilla scents of sensual movements and whiskey clad tongues fill the room as you move at a slow, passionate pace. His meaty hands and smooth tongue are everywhere, sliding down your neck, pulling your pebbled nipples into his warm mouth, and lapping thoroughly at the slick between your sticky thighs. 

   Your moans come in sync. Elated, deafening, ravenous every time he licks a thick stripe over your dripping core. He groans each time you rake your fingers through his mess of dark locks, your pleasurable moans filling the room every time he pulls your puffy clit into his mouth as his thick fingers curl up into the spongy walls that make you see blinding stars in your vision. He doesn’t stop even after the first time you come for him, spilling all your pent up slick as he laps up every single drop between your thighs. 

   He pulls out another mind blowing orgasm with his experienced tongue alone, and he doesn’t even give you a minute to breathe before he’s splitting you in two with the slick cock that fills you to the brim, bottoming out in you time and time again until you feel him everywhere in your system, like the nicotine and whiskey that fill his lungs night after lonely night. He licks into your mouth, his smooth tongue dancing along with yours until you can’t taste anything but the tang of neat whiskey and toxic nicotine that bleed into your bloodstream, tasting like sweet addiction and danger, a lover in disguise. 

   You’re already close again, almost spilling yourself around his thick cock as he bends your knees back and folds you like an acrobatic so you can feel him deep, rough every single time he snaps his hips against yours and buries his face into your neck with furrowed eyebrows as he sucks and bites against the base of your neck. 

   “Come for me again, hermosa. There you go, such a good fucking girl. Let me feel you again. Squeezing so tight around my fucking cock,” he growls as he guides his thumb down to your clit and starts to circle nice and slow, the pressure building in your spine as you start to let go. 

   “Javi,” you moan as you scratch your long nails down his bare back, clawing at his tanned skin every time he guides his slick cocks inside you, reaching that spongy spot that makes you plead and moan with every thrust of his hips. 

   “Attagirl, hermosa. Tan encantadora,” he pants as sweat covers his glistening forehead. Once, twice, three more tight circles on your bundle of nerves and you’re squeezing his cock, spilling yourself all over him as you moan loudly into his ear as he comes seconds after, throwing his head back as he groans with pleasure as thick ropes of white come paint your insides. 

   He topples over next to you in the damp, twisted sheets and pulls you against his broad chest while his free hand lights a cigarette up while he gets lost in the thick cloud of nicotine and musty sex. While he sucks on the addictive stick of nicotine, his dark eyes wade over you as his lips graze warmly over your sweat covered forehead. 

   “Did so good for me, hermosa. You wanna stay the night? I can get you all cleaned up in the morning, and we can go for breakfast. Maybe eat you out on the kitchen counter while I make you coffee. What do you say, hermosa?”

   You shift closer against his side, sliding your fingers over his glistening chest as his deep breaths fill the void in the spacious room. You flick your eyes up to him and study him, watching the way he inhales smoke and stares warmly down your way, like he’s in a lucid dream just watching the girl of his dreams. “You mean like… you want to keep seeing me? This wasn’t a one time thing?”

   His jaw goes slack as his lips parts open, putting the burning cigarette out on the pale blue ash tray on the edge of his mahogany nightstand. “That’s right, hermosa. A sweet, beautiful, gorgeous girl like you deserves more, and I want to give you that. If you’ll let me.”

   You take in his offer, your fingers threading through his as you crawl over him and graze your swollen red lips against his. “Okay then, Javi. Show me your world.”

   He cups the back of your neck and brings you down to his lips as he slots his tongue between your lipstick smeared lips, pulling you deep into him as you taste every shade of red he can paint you, coating you in desire you’ve only ever dreamed of. 

   He tasted like sex and candy, and you were just getting started. 

If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging or commenting or leaving me asks 🩷

Spanish Translations:

Hermosa - beautiful

Esplendida - gorgeous

desesperadamente - desperately

jodidamente perfecta - fucking perfect

Tan Encantadora - so lovely

Tags: @keylimebeag @sawymredfox @littlevenicebitch69 @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape

@vivian-pascal @msjarvis @amyispxnk @jasminedragoon @burntheedges

@akah565 @princesatracionera @rav3n-pascal22 @604to647 @pedrostories

@syd-djarin @tuquoquebrute @r3dheadedwitch

[formulaforza]

hello, hello! can i request a blurb where carlos and reader have moved in together and are having a housewarming party. they’ve invited a couple drivers over and lando tries to use the fancy hermes blanket on the couch and reader gasps! "what's the point of the blanket being on the couch if it can't be used?" "it's for show!" "oh for the love of god-" you’d do it amazingly 🫶🏼 thank you!

—coming home carlos sainz x reader love, mackie... hi nonnie!! this turned into exactly how I needed to spend my evening (my day was quite literally from hell.) and this ran a little longer than a blurb at 1.3k words! regardless, I hope you enjoy it! I had a lot of fun writing it (and listening to lots of Spanish music)

There wasn’t much that was easy about blending the home decor styles of you and your boyfriend. For every item that Carlos fell in love with, you had an equal and opposite styled piece that you were in love with. From the herringbone floors to the tall white walls, it seemed that everything in the place was a direct contrast of the other. Quiet luxury and old money and neon signs and maximalist paint swatches, it was almost an entire year before the two of you finally allowed guests to come over (which–by the way–was a direct conflict to one of the major reasons the two of you decided to move in together in the first place: hosting friends and family without arguing over who would be doing the hosting).

The week following the Spanish Grand Prix felt like the perfect time to finally show your home off to the people you loved most; everyone was already in Barcelona for Carlos, an hour and change flight or a two and a half hour train ride wouldn’t kill any of them, not when half of them had to make their way back to the capital. 

That’s how it all cumulated into the night of all nights. The coffee table books are surrounded by half full, mis-matched wine glasses on old Spanish tile coasters (a compromise the two of you had made over the intricate hand painted ceramic that previously adorned the kitchen walls). The record player in the corner of the room stutters its way through Carlos’ dusty Boleros In Trío vinyl while the bluetooth speaker in the kitchen serenades listeners with the sounds of Sebastian Yatra. 

Everytime Carlos enters a room, he flips the lightswitch on. You follow behind him turning the overheads back off, opting for the warm yellow lamp light and the colors of the city beyond the bistro-themed balcony.  He burns a candle on the stack of decorative books, something with tobacco and cocoa and brandy and–jasmine, maybe? He always picks candles with jasmine, so you might just be imagining the smell out of habit. 

And you, and him. The two of you so terribly settled into the domesticity of your shared lives, the air of love in every corner of the home. He appears in the kitchen in a warm breeze, reaching over your arm to grab a slice of chorizo from the tapas platter on the counter in front of you. He kisses your cheek when he does it, undoubtedly in hopes of distracting your hand from smacking his. “¿Tienes frío, mi amor?” Are you cold, my love? He peruses around the bite of food. 

“¿No porque?” No, why? You ask, pressing the back of your hand against your cheek to feel the temperature of your own skin. 

“Lando sigue y sigue sobre tener frío,” Lando is going on and on about being cold, he explains. “Estaba empezando a pensar que me estaba volviendo loco.” I was starting to think I was going crazy.

You laugh. If anything but temperate, you’re warm, working around the kitchen perfectly plating a platter for your friends and family to snack on. “Bueno, creo que Lando ha perdido la cabeza,” Well, I think Lando has lost his mind. Carlos chuckles, gives you another passing kiss as he moves behind you around the island. “¿Encontrarle una manta, sin embargo?” Find him a blanket, though? You ask. He nods through a chew, holds his thumb up as he backs out of the room—you wonder how he managed to sneak another bite of food past you. 

You appear with the tray of snacks, chorizo with ham and cheese and bread, croquetas and patatas bravas and tigres. If it’s all as good as it was when you’d tested the menu last weekend, your company won’t even realize that you and Carlos aren’t serving them an actual meal this evening. Everyone hastily moves their coasters and glasses and Carlos moves the stack of books from the coffee table to the entertainment center, hovers behind you as you set the heavy platter down just in case you need him. 

You find your seat next to Carlos on one of the sofas, know that he hates that people are eating on his new couches. He’d researched them for months–months–before finally deciding on the ones that had been delivered last month as a replacement to the ones from your old apartment. 

You notice Lando is still blanketless, still dramatically letting a shiver run up his entire body every ten minutes. “Güey,” you say, and half the room looks up from their conversation, Lando’s eyes meeting yours. “If you are cold still, get a blanket.”

“Ay yai yai, pollita, relax,” he quips back in a thick, feigned Spanish accent. Carlos snorts and you meet Lando with your middle finger, an old friend of his. When you look to your boyfriend to meet his dumb chuckle with the same fate, he’s not even paying attention to the conversation. Instead, he picks at the bottom of a shelf hung on the wall above the two of you. It holds his trophy from Silverstone, a picture of him and Caco, a small jar full of incense sticks (maybe the jasmine you smell), which he has stuck a tiny Spanish flag into, and a picture of you and he following his win. The smiles on both your faces are so horribly cheek-aching that you can almost feel the phantom soreness when you look at it. 

You watch as Lando reaches over another friend with a quiet excuse me. You can see the thought process happening behind his eyes, in his path for the blanket draped over the back of Carlos’ brand new couch. It’s like watching the world’s lowest stakes car crash. 

“Carlos,” you whisper. “Carlos, él va por la cobija,” he’s going for the blanket, you say through gritted teeth, nudging your boyfriend to deal with his friend.  He ignores you, still focused on the bottom of the shelf and the single splinter that shoots off it. “Carlos,” you say, this time with more force. 

“¿Qué?” You finally get his eyes, nodding over to Lando, who is currently unfolding the Hermés throw blanket Carlos’ mother had gifted the two of you upon signing your lease. “Ay! Cabrón! No,” he finally says, standing up from his seat and moving to take the blanket from Lando, who looks on in utter confusion as Carlos refolds the throw and moves down the hallway. 

“What the fuck?” He asks you through a meek chuckle. 

“We don’t use that blanket,” you explain, and he looks even more confused than before. 

“You… hu–what?” He laughs, with more confidence in his confusion than before. “Why is there a blanket on the couch if it can’t be used?”

You sigh, your eyes rolling behind closed lids. “It’s for decoration.”

“It’s for decoration?” You nod, just as Carlos appears from the hall again, usable blanket in tow, expensive throw likely put away in your shared bedroom. He hands it to Lando. “It’s for decoration,” the Brit teases. 

Carlos shrugs, holds his hands up in defense in the return to his seat beside you. “Rule maker,” he says, pointing to you with a thumb before shifting it to himself, “rule follower.”

You laugh, adjusting to the sink of the cushion brought on by Carlos’ weight on the couch, your fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck without even the beginnings of a thought. Lando groans, pointing to you, “whipped,” and then to Carlos, “whipped… but more.”

“Stellar delivery there, cabrón,” you smile. “No stutter or anything.”

Carlos exhales a sharp laugh, his shoulders bouncing silently. Across the coffee table, Lando, curled up in a fluffy blanket like a toddler staying up past their bed-time to hang out with Mom and Dad’s friends, flips you off and is sure to properly enunciate his silently mouthed fuck you.

[thebettybook]

🧸 The Best Babysitters for Mayday 🕸️

🕸️————————-🧸-————————🕸️

Characters: Miguel O’Hara x Spider-hero!gn!reader (who’s not a native/fluent Spanish speaker or has rusty Spanish skills). Miguel and reader are in an established romantic relationship.

Strawbetty’s notes: I just needed some soft content of Miguel being a good uncle to Mayday so I wrote this fic :’)

Warning: Major ATSV spoilers ahead! Other than that, an all-fluff story

Song rec: “Glue Song” by beabadoobee ft. Clairo

Spanish used: “Por supuesto que te extrañé, mi cielo” (“Of course I missed you, my sky”; I used SpanishDict and am always open to feedback on the Spanish I use in my fics)

🕸️————————-🧸-————————🕸️

You landed on Miguel’s floating platform with a thud! after slinging onto it with one your webs.

Miguel stood with his back to you, surrounded by his gold holographic screens that seemed more dim than usual. His shadow stretched behind him, illuminating a faint path for you to him.

“Hey, Mig—,” you called out, ready to ask Miguel if he wanted to join you for dinner.

“Shh,” Miguel turned around, a finger from his left hand on his lips. In his other hand, he held Mayday Parker.

The toddler was fast asleep, her breathing steady as she rested her head against his chest. Drool escaped her from lips and onto the crimson lines of the spider logo on Miguel’s Spider-Man 2099 suit, but Miguel didn’t seem to mind one bit. With his free hand, Miguel readjusted Mayday’s knitted red and blue Spider-Man beanie that was slipping off her head.

Your lips, parted in surprise, melted into a smile as you noticed the way Miguel tucked a stray curly strand of red hair away from Mayday’s face with the utmost care.

After a long day of wrangling anomalies and going on missions to different Earths (you went to at least five today), seeing Miguel with Mayday was just the serotonin boost you needed.

“Aww,” you whispered, making your way to Miguel. You leaned onto his side, resting your head on his left bicep. “Where’s Peter B?”

“Went to call his wife to tell her how much he loves and misses her,” Miguel rolled his ruby orbs, letting out what might’ve been the quietest sigh of frustration you’ve ever heard from him. “For the tenth time today.”

You covered your mouth with your hand to suppress your giggles, careful not to wake Mayday. “That’s so cute, though. I wouldn’t mind if someone told me they missed me today, too.”

You lifted your eyebrows, quirking a smirk as you shifted your eyes from Mayday to Miguel. He met you with a small smirk of his own before letting out a loving huff.

“Por supuesto que te extrañé, mi cielo,” Miguel leaned down to kiss your forehead. He couldn’t help but chuckle when your eyebrows knitted together as you tried to translate to yourself what Miguel said in Spanish (your Spanish skills were still kind of rusty but you were learning from Miguel).

“Ohhh.” It took you a minute to figure out what he said: “Of course I missed you, my sky.” You replied by cupping Miguel’s face in your hands, dotting airy kisses along his nose, cheeks, and jawline.

Miguel melted against your touch, leaning down to kiss your soft-as-clouds lips—

“Bah!” A babble from Mayday interrupted you and Miguel. The toddler, now wide awake, patted her cheeks at you.

“Do you want kisses, too, Mayday?” You cocked your head to the side, scooping her up from Miguel’s arms.

Mayday cooed, answering you with a toothy smile. Her adorable giggles grew in volume as you smothered her freckled nose and cheeks in kisses.

Miguel rested his hands on his hips as he watched you and Mayday. It was his turn to have the softest of smiles on his face. After a long day of leading the Spider-Society and making sure all was right with the multiverse, seeing you with Mayday was just the serotonin boost he needed.

“Hey, hey,” Miguel stepped forward, resting his chin on top of your head and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Save some kisses for me.”

Mayday took the opportunity to climb out of your arms and onto your shoulder, making her way up to Miguel’s shoulder behind you.

You and Miguel shared a chuckle as Miguel unwrapped his arms from your waist to keep Mayday safe on his shoulders.

As the two of you continued to look after a more-energetic-than-ever Mayday (with Miguel swinging around the lab via his laser webs with Mayday on his shoulders while you chased them using your own webs in a game of tag), Peter B returned to Miguel’s lab from finishing his phone call.

The Spider-Dad-of-one gazed up at the three of you with a grin a mile wide as he saw you and Miguel care for Mayday like your own.

Peter B knew that Miguel always cared for Mayday ever since Peter B first brought her to the Spider-Society, but it took a while for Miguel to outwardly show his affection for Mayday, especially with all the trauma and hurt that Miguel experienced in relation to losing his alternate dimension daughter Gabriella.

Now, seeing Miguel openly play with Mayday, with you by Miguel’s side, Peter B couldn’t help but think that it was a sign that Miguel was finally letting his loved ones enter and enrich his life; a sign that Miguel was healing.

“I think I found the best babysitters for Mayday,” Peter B hummed, turning to Miguel’s AI assistant Lyla, who appeared on Peter B’s shoulder in a glitch.

“I think you did, too,” Lyla winked as the two of them whipped out their phones to take pictures and videos of you, Miguel, and Mayday above.

Such adorable pictures and videos would be sent to you and Miguel (and maybe the rest of the Spider-Society) in a matter of minutes.

🕸️————————-🧸-————————🕸️

Important:

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

🍓 All content on this blog is created by me, @thebettybook (excluding posts I reblog that aren’t my own posts and unless I state otherwise). Do not modify, claim, repost, or translate my work onto this platform and any other platform.

🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :). Want more Miguel content? Check out my masterlist.

🕸️————————-🧸-————————🕸️

[outsideratheart]

I do regret it (Alexia Putellas x reader)

A/N: to @grapefruit-personified and the Anon that bribed me with coffee emoj’s. This one is for you, I hope you enjoy it.

You thought the American’s knew how to party but the Spanish, well they put some of your wildest nights to shame. You could count on one hand the amount of times Alexia wasn’t by you side as you spent the night celebrating winning the league on the dance floor as some of your favourite Spanish songs fill the speakers.

It is in the early hours when the bar closes that you find yourself in a taxi with Alexia. The driver asks how many stops and where to, Alexia told him one and the address of her apartment.

The next morning you woke up with a pounding headache, reminding you just how much alcohol you consumed the night before. You feel a weight on top of you and much to your surprise it is Alexia who is sleeping peacefully against your chest, the two of you covered in nothing but the bed sheets. As you gently stoke her hair you are reminded of the events that took place just a few hours ago.

“It wasn’t suppose to happen like this” you whisper before gently moving Alexia so that you can get out of bed.

Not ready to think about what last night meant, you leave Alexia’s apartment before she wakes up.

**************

Due to having off field commitments you don’t see Alexia until the game against Real Sociadad. To your surprise Alexia chooses to sit near Parti instead of you, the young midfielder gives you an apologetic look as she knows the two of you normally sit together on away days.

Hours pass and Alexia refuses to be near you, never mind talk to you.

When the team is about to do the warms up you pull Alexia back into the locker room.

“Hey” you say but she refuses to meet your gaze “Look at me”

When she does, the warm hazel eyes you adore aren’t the ones you are met with.

“Something’s wrong, tell me what it is and I will do everything I can to make it better”

Alexia walks away sitting back in her locker.

“The night we won the league” Alexia’s words strike fear in you. The two of you hadn’t spoke about it and you were hoping that she would forget, truth is you only remember pieces.

“Alexia—“

“Do you regret it?” She asks as she plays with the drawstring on her shorts.

The answer is simple, at least to you it is.

“Of course I do” you reply.

Your blatancy catches her off guard and your words cut deep. How could you feel nothing whilst she feels everything. Alexia hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the night the two of you shared, how she wished you hadn’t walked out on her.

Not knowing what to say, she chooses to say nothing. Instead she pushes past you as she heads out to the pitch.

“Alexia” you shout. She turns to face you before shaking her head, leaving you by yourself.

The game ends with a Barcelona victory but for the first time this season neither you, nor Alexia are involved in any of the goals.

When you see her running to the tunnel after the game instead of meeting the fans you know something is wrong as she always thanks them for travelling to support the team. You run after her knowing that nothing or nobody else matters in that moment.

You open the door to see Alexia hunched over in her locker. The sight itself makes you feel sick.

“Please tell me what’s wrong?” You bend down so you are at her level.

“How could you say that?” Alexia asks.

“What are you—“ your attempt at getting Alexia to explain further is cut short as you get called back out to the pitch for media.

You return to the locker room and what you are welcomed with comes as a shock. Several players surround Alexia, the sound of her sobs travel across the room. Worry consumes you and you go straight to her, wanting to know if she is ok.

“Get out!” Jenni snaps, her number one priority is to protect her best friend.

The players who have decided to give Alexia space jump when the hear the forward raise her voice. Their attention now on you as they watch in intrigue, waiting to see how you will respond.

“No!” you stand your ground.

Looking behind Jenni’s shoulder, you see Alexia watching the two of you. You see the hurt on her face, the redness in her eyes and suddenly Jenni’s reaction makes sense.

“I won’t ask again” Jenni warns.

The angry within you rises, not liking the way she is speaking to you in front of the team.

“You didn’t ask the first time” You snap back, taking one step closer to the forward.

Both of you, equal in height, stand in the middle of the locker room, toe to toe, your faces millimetres away from each other. You hear some of your team mates try to talk you down but you don’t move. Something is wrong with Alexia and you wasn’t going to leave her.

“You can’t make me leave. I don’t answer to you” you poke her chest. “I answer to her” you point to Alexia.

Seconds pass, neither of you moving from your spots. Jenni is the immovable object whilst you are the unstoppable force.

“Leave”

You brake your gaze upon hearing her voice. Alexia walks towards to two of you, her friends still remain close.

“Jenni is right” you wince as she chooses her best friend over you “you should leave”

Your demeanour soon changes. Jenni now that last thing on your mind.

“Ale” you beg.

At this point Mapi, who much to your surprise has stayed neutral until this point, comes to your side.

“Only her friends get to call her that” she says but is unable to meet your eyes.

You didn’t understand why Mapi was saying this. She knows more than anyone how much Alexia means you to. It was her that you first confided in when you realised that you were in love with your best friend. Now here she stands, by Alexia’s side and not yours. Looking around, the only person that seems to be on your side it Caroline.

“You know what, fuck all of you. I have done nothing wrong but it’s nice to see who my friends are” you snap.

The team remain in silence as they watch you pack up your things and storm out of the locker room, Caro following in suit. After your departure there is an eerie atmosphere, the majority of the players not knowing what just happened or the reason why.

The why is the thing that was bothering you the most. If anything you admired Jenni’s loyalty to her friend, it was nice knowing Alexia had someone in her corner who would literally fight for her.

Your angry fails to subside even when you are back at the hotel. When Caroline asks you if you are going down for food you decline stating that you were sore after the game, the Norweigan knows that you not wanting to be with the team has nothing to do with you needing to rest.

You knew that when Alexia is upset she, similar to you, likes to be alone so once your room mate goes for the team meal you take the opportunity to see woman that has been on your mind all day.

Once outside her door you hear a voice and it didn’t belong to Alexia. Great, you think to yourself. Regardless you knock on the door, knowing that getting on the other side of the threshold might be challenging.

“What are you doing here?” Mapi asks.

When you look at the blonde you can see the how torn she is as she looks back at you, then at alexia, then back at you. You ignore her question, instead you look around her and at the woman you came to see.

“Can I come in?” You ask her not caring about the others players in the room.

“No, you—“ Leila begins to answer for Alexia but you don’t let her finish.

“I wasn’t talking to you” you growl whilst not taking your eyes off the Alexia.

Upon seeing Alexia, really seeing her, you relax your shoulders, your stoic expression is soon replaced with a look of concern but also of hurt. You let her see you, the person who is struggling with not knowing what is wrong with her.

“Let her in” Alexia tells Leila who in turn shakes her head.

You smirk at Leila, raising your eyebrows in victory.

2 down, 1 to go. Jenni still stood by Alexia’s side.

“What happened?” You ask “I don’t understand how things got like this” you point around to Alexia’s guard dogs “And you” you point at Jenni “What was that in the locker room?”

“Oh you know exactly what you did” Jenni begins to get annoyed at your refusal to take blame.

“What I did” you are shocked “I didn’t do anything. I went to do media and when I came back I was enemy number 1”

“It’s what you said” Alexia says barely a whisper.

You try to think of something that you said which would have gained this reaction, not only from Alexia but also from your team mates. The only thing you talked about was….then it came to you.

You scan the room, this isn’t a conversation you want to have with anyone other than Alexia. Jenni notices your action and doesn’t like it one bit.

“I’m not leaving” she protests.

Alexia doesn’t say anything and you take that as she wants her to stay.

“Fine but can you at least go sit with thing 1 and thing 2 on the bed” you tip your head to the two meli’s.

To your amazement Jenni does as you say.

The way Alexia looks at you, you can tell you have hurt her and that was not your intention at all.

“It’s about what I said in the locker room, isn’t it?” You ask and Alexia nods her head.

Words have never been your strong suit, you have always been an action kind of girl. You wished this was a rom com because you could just kiss Alexia and that would be enough to tell her how your truly feel but real life doesn’t work that way, now you have to use your words to fix this.

“You asked me a question and I stand by my answer but you walked away before I could finish it” you explain whilst trying to be as vague as you can knowing that you have an audience.

“So you do regret sleeping with me? Did it mean nothing to you?” Clearly Alexia didn’t share the same need for privacy.

“I do”

At this Jenni stands back up.

“Let me finish” you are quick to turn on your feet to stop her from coming closer.

“I regret doing it whilst we were drunk. As for what it meant to me, it meant everything. I don’t sleep with people if I don’t care for them”

“But you slept with that French player during the SheBelieves” Mapi interjects.

This is why you wanted this conversation to be between just you and Alexia.

“First of all, if you are staying here I need you to be quiet. Second of all, I didn’t sleep with her” you argue.

“Why, she was pretty” Alexia says which only angers you more.

“Because she wasn’t you!!!” You shout.

“What?” Alexia says, her tone letting you know that she doesn’t understand what you mean.

“I regret sleeping you with because we were drunk and it was our first time” you say the last two words quietly because you start to get embarrassed “I have thought about what it would be like to, you know what I won’t finish that sentence” you stop yourself.

“Thank god” Leila mumbles causing the two of you to laugh.

“Alexia, I like you, more than I have liked anybody in entire life. That night I was very drunk, I couldn’t have been that good and I can’t even remember most of it”

“It was good, you were—” Alexia is cut off.

“Please don’t finish that sentence” Mapi begs.

You hold your index finger up at Alexia as if saying one minute before walking over to Jenni.

“Knowing what I truly meant, please can you give us the room?” You ask the forward who nods her head.

Turning your attention back to Alexia you let yourself be open, honest and vulnerable.

“I loved and hated that night. On one hand I had everything I wanted, the most beautiful girl in the world and I was getting to sleep with her” you laugh a little, trying to lighten the mood “but like I said I was drunk. I wanted it to be different”

“How different?” Alexia asks playfully.

“I would take you out, probably to sushi because it’s your favourite. Then we would go for a walk around the city, I would be nervous at first but I would reach for your hand, holding it in mine so that you couldn’t change your mind and leave me”

“I would never leave you” you says reassuringly.

“Good to know. Then when the night comes to an end I would ask you if I could walk you to your apartment all whilst thinking of ways to make the night last longer”

Alexia hangs on your every word as you describe the date.

“I would kiss you, that is if you wanted me to”

“I want you to”

A smile grows on your face at the way Alexia phrased her sentence.

You close the distance between the two of you. Your lips connect with hers, wasting no time as your mouths move in sync, only separating when breathing becomes an issue.

“I think you kiss better when you are drunk” Alexia teases you.

You shake her head at her playfullness.

“I do not” you jokingly argue “Let me show you”

Once again you kiss Alexia, this one with more passion than the last.

Later on that week you take Alexia on the date you had planned, showing her what a real first time should feel like.

[kidflashimpulse]

Hi! So, as someone who loves the relationship between Bart and Edu, and Bart in general, I wanna ask; do you have any headcanons regarding Bart’s Spanish level? Like, does he only know a couple of words? Does he know enough to hold an easy conversation, even if slowly and with a strong accent? Does he unabashedly flirt in Spanish with Edu and call him “mi sol” (my sun) right in front of Dr. Dorado!? Like, I have so many ideas. Please and thank you

yes !! I actually do thank you for asking <33

Personally I feel like Bart would broadly be fluent in terms of understanding Spanish. Lesser so in speaking it because of lack of practice rather than lack of trying. It’s not intentional it’s just that I believe it’s what makes sense for the way he probably learned it i.e largely from exposure of his surrounding of what he hears from both Ed (and Jaimes especially in the early years) home surrounding and consuming spanish speaking media as well. He’s probably incredibly bored in spanish class (which HC yes he takes) which whilst it helps him improve his understanding of the syntax of the language, probably doesn’t do much in terms of his capabilities like vocabulary where he benefitted mainly from exposure (one of the best ways to learn a language). He hasn’t had much reason to consistently practice it to the point of being fluent verbally, because the spanish speakers mostly speak english most of the time he’s there.

i think he definitely knows enough to hold a simple conversation, and he tries his best with pronunciation (unless he’s purposefully trying to be annoying) and of course as with all things, his speed and perception of time probably helps him linguistically too.

and of course he’d like to impress edu so yes to the sweet names and all.

in terms of flirting, lmfao honestly i feel like any “public” flirting bart does with ed is more with humorous intentions and any genuinely bold flirting he does is more private between them. He’d be shy to do that publicly. I feel like Ed is more capable for bold flirting publicly (he can get embarrassed too ofc but it doesn’t stop him 😂). Honestly probably overanalysing things lol but with how Ed is in the show, generally very outspoken and bold, frequently talks to masses of people in the MHYC, very social etc, i just feel like he would be more bold that way too. Bart is bold, social and outspoken as well but he’s generally sneakier from what weve seen so that just makes me feel like he’s more inclined to be a little shyer with some things. Pet names i don’t consider too bold though so I’m sure Bart could sweetly refers to Edu as his Sun (so sweet omg) infront of his dad who probably finds it cute 😭.

i imagine though because of the differences in dialects Bart is probably exposed to there’s room for confusion too.

ALSO this post is the only other alternative answer /j

i’d be very interested to hear ur thoughts too! thank u for ur ask <33

[jcs-study]

Thinking About JCS Too Much, Vol. 1: "Jaded Mandarin" - Lost in Translation?

Intro

In my second attempt at an introduction for this blog, I pondered aloud, "Ever wonder if you’re too big a fan of your favorite piece of entertainment?" Suffice it to say, that is far from the only time that thought has crossed my mind.

You see, unlike many faded celebrities attempting to jump-start their careers afresh by "finding religion," I followed the opposite path. I don’t remember hearing about God, Jesus, or anything like that before a certain age. I was about 4 when I first started becoming aware of religion. Something related to Christendom spawned a cover story in Time magazine, and they had this beautiful traditional artwork of Jesus on the front that caught my eye. I became obsessed with religion in general, and the Christ story in particular. (Even today a lot of my extracurricular reading is devoted to religious fiction and non-fictional religious studies, and the shelves of my film collection are strewn with biblical epics, both Old Testament and New. I’m by no means invested in the Abrahamic faiths -- in fact, I'm now an avowed atheist -- but I won’t deny that I’m very knowledgeable about them.)

This obsession led me to Jesus Christ Superstar, and so my life as a show biz professional, and my switch from a special interest (yay, spectrum!) in religion and the surrounding scholarship to one in a single telling of a story that happens to deal with religious subject matter, began.

Naturally, this has led to a few embarrassing incidents of over-thinking where I nerd out just a little too much, primarily from a literary perspective. (Case in point: my answer to a recent question posed to this blog about the lack of a detail from the biblical story in the show. Did I need to go "all in" on whether or not Jesus was actually prophesying that Peter would deny him three times by the time a rooster crowed? Probably not. Did I anyway? Oh, c'mon, you've read it by now, don't make me relive it.)

So, in a similar vein, I'm going to periodically write about those moments where I nerd out too much, in hopes that my immense nerdiness will maybe give someone a deeper understanding of the show, even just a small part of it. You've seen one, thanks to an inquiry from an anonymous fellow fan; after the jump, here's another.

Translation vs. Adaptation

Among the many unique features of JCS, it was one of the first musicals of its kind to be widely adapted into the local vernacular when presented internationally, rather than merely importing an English-language cast as the custom used to be.

Besides its mother tongue, JCS can (theoretically) be heard in:

Czech

French

German (anecdotally, it has been reported that the German translation is not the best, which is why many productions in German-speaking countries opt for the English instead; however, that might be about to change, as the production at the Luisenburg Festspiele Wunsiedel this summer is supposed to mark the debut of a new authorized one -- we'll see how it goes!)

Hungarian (there's two Hungarian ones, actually)

Japanese

Polish

Portuguese

Romanian (in a translation recently debuted in, of all places, Chicago)

Russian (there are several, both official and unofficial; we will deal with all of them today)

Spanish (both the European variety and two Mexican ones)

Swedish (at least two that I'm aware of, the original and whatever Ola Salo uses for productions involving him)

(And those are just the ones I know about.)

While I appreciate JCS most in its original language, being a native English speaker myself, I realize translation and adaptation are important, for all the reasons that they usually are: not everybody speaks a foreign language with dexterity, or is capable of processing it at the pace a play or musical is performed; almost without exception, people respond better to the language they grew up speaking, especially in a piece of entertainment; and, most importantly, translation allows ideas and information to spread across cultures, sometimes changing history in the process. (After all, no matter what your religious belief, part of the reason the Bible -- the show's source material, as if you needed a reminder -- has had such an impact on history is the sheer number of translations, which, at last count, is 531 languages.)

However, translation into any language (pro or amateur) is a delicate art, especially where a play or musical is concerned. As Don Bartlett, who has translated Danish, German, Norwegian, Spanish, and Swedish books into English, put it in a piece where several translators were interviewed for The Guardian, “There’s always a tension between being true to the original and being readable.” On the one hand, translating the meanings of words and phrases in a literal way maintains fidelity to the text; on the other, translating sense-for-sense, taking into account the meanings of phrases or whole sentences, can improve readability. And that’s just books… imagine doing this for theater or film!

Personally, I subscribe to the assessment of Edith Grossman (also interviewed in the aforementioned Guardian piece), who once said: “…the most fundamental description of what translators do is that we write — or perhaps rewrite — in language B a work of literature originally composed in language A, hoping that readers of the second language — I mean, of course, readers of the translation — will perceive the text, emotionally and artistically, in a manner that parallels and corresponds to the aesthetic experience of its first readers. This is the translator’s grand ambition. Good translations approach that purpose. Bad translations never leave the starting line.”

(Or, to tie this back into our topic somewhat more closely, I'm mashing together two quotes from two different interviews with the late Herbert Kretzmer, the adaptor of such popular foreign musicals as Les Misérables, Marguerite, and Kristina: "Words have resonance within a culture, they have submarine strengths and meaning. If I wanted a literal translation, I would go to the dictionary. Translation — the very word I rebut and resent, because it minimizes the genuine creativity that I bring to the task. [...] I offer this advice to any lyricist invited to adapt or translate foreign songs into English: Do not follow the original text slavishly. Re-invent the lyric in your own words, remembering that there may be better ways of serving a master than trotting behind him on a leash.")

Nowhere is this job harder than JCS, especially in Russian. As languages, Russian and English are just too different from each other, each very rich in emotional shadings that the other language lacks (or at least conveys differently), to a point that nearly every new production of JCS over there has led to a fresh translation. Tim Rice's unusual wordplay, masterful (at times) in English, is very difficult to convey in a foreign tongue, especially when it can be safely argued that the expression in question is hardly common to its native audience.

The Piece We're Evaluating

As if the title didn't give it away, I speak, of course, of a certain insult Judas hurls at Jesus during their climactic argument at the Last Supper, calling him:

A jaded mandarin A jaded mandarin As a jaded jaded faded jaded jaded mandarin

That's a doozy in English, to say the least. I may have written on this blog previously that I’ve heard enough jokes about the Last Supper being at an all-you-can-eat Chinese restaurant or Jesus’ penchant for citrus fruits to be tired of them all.

In case you missed Tim's actual meaning: mandarin is not just a variety of orange, a form of the Chinese language, or a term for an official in any of the nine top grades of the former imperial Chinese civil service (or clothing characteristic of what they’d allegedly wear or porcelain objets d’art depicting them). The root word for mandarin in Hindi means “counselor,” and – unfortunately, given this definition’s origin in unkind Asian racial stereotypes – the term came to refer (in colonialist British parlance) to a powerful official or senior bureaucrat, especially one perceived as reactionary and secretive. When he calls Jesus a “jaded mandarin,” Judas is saying that Jesus is corrupt, washed up, and useless as a leader.

Could Tim Rice have found a better way to say that? Probably. But this is the method he chose, and for better or worse, it has gone down in history ever since, including a recent parodic reference in the second season of the Apple TV+ series Schmigadoon! to a “sour macaroon.”

Now, it took all that explanation to convey its meaning in English. How well do you think it crossed over to Russian? Well, no less than 16 translators decided to try; some were official, others fan translations that were used in little-known productions. (The number should not be surprising. This is very much the viewpoint of an outsider looking in who lived long after that time, but when an album is banned by the government, bootleg copies change hands for huge sums "underground," and the music on that album is in a style also banned by the government… well, let's just say something "forbidden" is going to attract a lot of people. After that initial burst of enthusiasm, then it's like any other piece of literature which is translated a number of times by multiple people -- someone who thinks they can do a better job of conveying the foreign meaning in their native tongue, perhaps in a more modern dialect or a more relevant way.)

Inspired by a conversation I had on ye olde JCS Zone Forum (RIP) with Russian fan Pasha Levcovetz, we're going to take a look at all of them, evaluating them for literal vs. poetic accuracy and also offering opinions on which might have even -- dare I say it -- improved on the original. For the sake of most of my readership, I'll render the Russian in (literal but accurate) English so you can understand what the adapted lyrics intend to say. (Special thanks to Pasha for his help!)

Translating "Mandarin"

As one might expect with a phrase that is not exactly common linguistic currency, and the number of jokes made about Tim's choice of words, the first problem Russian translators might encounter is "mandarin" -- more specifically, whether or not it is a literal reference to mandarin fruit.

Much to both my dismay and my amusement, two of the official translators and three of the fans decided that the lyric indeed referred to the fruit.

In the Teatr Mossoveta production in Moscow, which has been presented numerous times from 1990 to the present (and which made much larger departures that I've previously written about in response to a question from @nemoverne), Yaroslav Kesler rendered it like so:

Like a pitiful tangerine Like a pitiful tangerine Like a pitiful, pitiful, pitiful, pitiful, yellow tangerine!

For the more faithful version recorded on CD in 1992, Vyacheslav Ptitsyn traveled in a similar direction:

Squeezed lemon! You are a squeezed lemon! You are a pathetic, petty, pathetic, petty squeezed lemon!

Lastly, for something that is not a variation on either of the above, fan translator Yevgeniy Susorov gives us:

You are a withered fruit You are rotten, tasteless fruit You are a withered fig tree that will die in the flames!

I can see their intention, and, in my opinion, both Ptitsyn and Susorov improved on the original line, although this was probably coincidental in the former's case.

As far as Kesler is concerned, it's more of a vague fruit comparison that sort of makes sense. A yellow tangerine is overripe, and as tasty as overly ripened fruit can be, it's prone to developing patches of mold, and goes bad when left uneaten for too long. The meaning here when Judas applies it to Jesus as an insult should be clear, as he's been saying something like this about him -- metaphorically speaking -- for the entire show. (In the fan category, Vadim Zhmud makes the same choice and is even more explicit about his intentions, rendering the fruit as a "lethargic," "well-fed" tangerine. Mikhail Kokovikhin's take also chooses "tangerine," but gets caught up in trying to use it in exactly the way Tim uses "mandarin," repeating the word for emphasis and relying on the fact that Russian has three different synonyms for the word "rotten" to pad out the stanza. There's nothing wrong with trying to match Tim's choices as closely as possible, but just calling someone a rotten fruit in all the ways one can is a little weak.)

Ptitsyn's is more intriguing, partially because of a (likely) unintentional double meaning. If you recall, he refers to a pathetic lemon that has had all the juice squeezed out of it. In American English, in addition to referring to the fruit of the same name, "lemon" is also used to refer to a product, usually an automobile, that has flaws -- like manufacturing defects, in the car's case -- too great or severe to serve its intended purpose. (To cite a more abstract usage, the late Jim Steinman aptly used the "lemon" analogy in the Meat Loaf song "Life Is a Lemon And I Want My Money Back.") In Russian, the phrase "squeezed lemon" similarly refers to someone very tired, a person who has lost their strength or abilities. Poetically speaking, Judas calling Jesus a "lemon" at this moment has an extra layer of meaning that works really well in either language.

Lastly, my favorite (if only as an atheist theologian) is Susorov, who doesn't just spin the line into a much better fruit metaphor -- he even gets biblical with it, referencing both Jesus' teaching about "trees bearing bad fruit" and also one bad tree in particular that figured into Jesus' final week in the original Passion narrative.

Quoting loosely from the King James Version of Matthew's Gospel (an incident also recounted in Mark, chapter 11): "And seeing a fig tree by the wayside [Jesus] went to it and found nothing on it but only leaves. And he said to it, 'May no fruit ever come from you again!' And the fig tree withered."

In Susorov's text, Judas is not only condemning Jesus as the tree bearing bad fruit against which he preached, but also comparing him to a specific, very recent failure that might still sting.

(Susorov's choice is made even more ironic by the fact that Lloyd Webber and Rice intended to musicalize this moment in JCS themselves, but ultimately decided to cut it from the original album when concerns of length were raised, as previously discussed here. If that scene was still in the show, this would be quite the burn!)

Getting at the Meaning

Moving away from the poetic toward conveying the lyric's literal intention without getting bogged down in language, both official and fan translators seem to settle for general insults, so it becomes a different question: whether they are just that (i.e., general insults) or they convey the same meaning as intended by "jaded mandarin."

The latter is achieved adequately by Viktor Polyak (Yaroslavskiy Gosudarstvennyy Teatr Yunogo Zritelya, 1989-1994):

You are a crashed idol You are a crashed idol You are a crashed, broken, dirty idol!

It works. The show is called Jesus Christ Superstar; a fallen celebrity metaphor is far from out of place. Maksim Samoylov, in the fan department, goes for a similar take, having Judas call Jesus a "little, fallen star."

Svetlana Peyn, whose translation has appeared at Stas Namin in Moscow from 2011 to the present, is on a similar wavelength:

You are a pompous hero You are a pompous hero With poisonous loud glory you are a self-important pompous hero

Ouch!

Mikhail Parygin, a fan translator, is in the same boat, going for "a [...] pathetic, petty, pompous king." Likewise Andrey Voskresenskiy, with "a [...] surrendered, fallen, finished prophet," and Vera Degtyaryova, who settles for "a miserable [...] former leader." Also rather close is Aleksandr Butuzov, who has Judas call Jesus "a loser" and "a mediocre, brainless, stupid leader." Though Russian fans I've spoken to don't especially care for his choice of words in their own language, it's on the mark as far as literal meaning goes.

Another official translation is not quite in the same realm, but close enough to make sense. Specifically, Grigoriy Kruzhkov and Marina Boroditskaya, holding the pen for the St. Petersburg Rock Opera State Theater in an adaptation which has been produced since 1990, provided:

Like a rebel! Like a simple rebel! Like a deceiver and a thief! Like a self-proclaimed king!

Metaphorically speaking, if you squint at it, it looks similar; full-bore insults that at least fit the plot.

Things get a little more interesting when translators move farther afield. For example, on the official front, Valeriy Lagosha's version for the "Free Space" Theater in Oryol, which ran from 2003-07, is:

No, I do not want this, prophet I do not want this, prophet After all, in this life I was able to do much more

It's an interesting idea to follow Judas' suggestion in "Heaven On Their Minds" that everyone would be better off if Jesus had not become famous and reinforce that point.

On the fan front, Kirill Sukhomlinov chooses to turn Jesus' biblical language about the religious authorities back on him:

You are a pathetic hypocrite You are a pathetic hypocrite You are a pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, nasty hypocrite!

And Maksim Zakharov doesn't really hit on the exact idea, but manages to create something that at least fits the character and situation:

You are a dark person You are a terrible person I am glad that you will end your life in prison!

Conclusion

Will there ever be a perfect translation? The jury's still out, especially -- it would seem -- in Russian. (There are more examples just from Russian translations to talk about that I will contemplate in future posts.) But it's always fascinating to view a piece from someone else's perspective, isn't it?

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

i know you mentioned in the past on this blog you're multilingual and i was wondering if you had any tips and tricks for learning/picking a language to learn or resources as someone whose major surrounds linguistics?

Did someone mention languages? Oh hell yes. I

How to pick a language to learn

This is really about as subjective as it gets because there are plenty of reasons to learn a language. Job relocations, a romantic partner, fun, etc. I've literally picked up learning a language just because I enjoyed a song and thought the language was beautiful (Brazilian Portuguese) so really it just depends on you and you alone.

If you like anime and want to watch without subtitles, learn Japanese.

If you want to learn Turkish because you enjoy films from the country, learn Turkish.

If you're trying to learn Mandarin because of long-term work benefits, learn Mandarin.

And if you're really having that hard of a time picking, you can do a coin toss or a raffle generator to help you pick between the handful you're interested in. But you'll usually find it easier and more fun learning a language you're actually invested in. But should you ever run into the problem of being forced to learn a language, I do have tips on a separate blog on what to do then that you can read here.

What are your goals?

I would first decide what your goals are for learning a language.

Listening, Reading, Writing and Speaking are all separate abilities. You can read Arabic perfectly but then the moment someone starts speaking to you, you're completely lost. You can be auditorily fluent but be unable to read and write.

Fluency is really a big word here in linguistics as what fluency looks like to one person, might not be fluency for someone else.

So I would figure out what your goals for learning a language are. If you want to learn Italian so you can an untranslated copy of Dante's Inferno, then you don't necessarily have to focus on listening and speaking skills. On the flip side, if you're just trying to learn Japanese because you want to watch anime without subtitles,

I personally wanted to watch Chinese films and dramas without worrying about subtitles, so I don't really focus on reading and writing skills and my speaking abilities are kind losin' their edge. But that's fine with me since I personally only want to watch stuff in Mandarin.

But because I do plan on working in Japan after I graduate, I try to maintain all my skills in all four of those categories. Same for Spanish as there are native Spanish speakers in my life I remain in contact with constantly.

Figure out what kind of learner you are and the type of instruction that suits you best

If you ever get the chance to take an elective surrounding Second Language Teaching or Second Language Learning, I recommend it. If not, I recommend the book Techniques and Principles in Language Teaching.

Once you take this class, you never really look at any language class you take the same way ever again. You'll be wondering if your class is one that centers around the Grammar Translation Method, the Audiolingual Method, Content-based Instruction, is this a class that involves Critical Pedagogy?

Because once you become aware of those methods and whether or not you are compatible with them, you'll see how your progress fluctates.

There's also whether or not you consider yourself a kinetic or visual learner, and so on and so forth. How one person learns might not be applicable for you, so their tips and tricks that help them learn a language faster might do nothing but inhibit you.

So I would experiment with any tips you come across and keep what does help you, toss out what doesn't.

Expect the plateau, don't be discouraged

When you are first learning a language, it goes pretty fast because everything is new and. But eventually you are going to notice that your progress is stagnating and you aren't learning nearly as much as you used to and you may begin to feel discouraged or begin slacking off because of it.

The plateau happens to all of us, so don't worry if it ever happens to you.

There are plenty of tips you can find online from various people how to overcome a language plateau, so I'll just list my personal methods of trying to shake things up:

Try learning your native tongue through your target language

Find more entertainment-based resources to encourage you to study like movies, youtubers, reality tv shows in your target language, try reading a book in it, etc.

Get out of your comfort zone. Complacency is the enemy here

Try finding new mini-goals to boost your learning

If you haven't already, try journaling in your target language

I'm assuming if you're following this blog, you're probably really interested in Japanese or Chinese since I mostly write content for Japanese anime and some Chinese games like Genshin but I do have some fun entertainment resources for the other languages I know/am learning. I don't wanna make this ask response too long though so if you're interested in that, let a girl know and I will get to channel reccing

[motsimages]

I've just seen this thread on Twitter and I will translate it because it really shows what it is to learn a language to a degree where you actually understand it.

TRANSLATION OF THE WHOLE THREAD (3 tweets):

"Completely agree. And let us not fetishize more than necessary. Sometimes, when it comes to languages, we are no better than those cishet men who, on the 8th of March, say that women are the most beautiful thing God created.

"In Norwegian, the Spanish "penumbra" (semi-darkness) is called "semi-darkness" and it's super poetic."

"Well, yes, imaginary speaker, the etymology of "penumbra" is "almost shadow", but it also is an everyday word that has no esoteric characteristics"

"But, lighthouse is "tower of fire" and it makes you think..."

"No, that's what it makes *you* think because you just learn the word, but it really means lighthouse, and that's it."

There is a level of fluency in every language when you *think* you are fluent because you can follow conversations, watch movies and read books, you can interact with people and not struggle much, and it makes you truly believe that you are bilingual. Which you are (definitions of "bilingual" may vary but I count you in), but you are still a foreigner, an outsider, and you think that everything that people do is fascinating and interesting and cool.

As Ana says "you turn it into a fetish". I will use an example I saw a mutual comment on not so long ago (espero que no te moleste, avisé de que igual hacía un hilo sobre esto ;) ). He mentioned something kind of like "literacy" in English had more o better connotations than the Spanish "alfabetización". He explained why he felt that this translation wasn't accurate, because of the connotations he felt it had and a conversation in his notes followed with suggestions to find a more accurate translation. That is the accurate translation, though. That is literally what "literacy" means, what it is, as exotic and cool as the English word may be.

As far as I can tell, he is studying in English. This is giving him fluency and knowledge he otherwise wouldn't have, but he is still at a stage where the foreign language is exotic, interesting and rare. Where you can stop and overanalyze words because look at how they constructed this otherwise average word! And it sounds so pretty too!

We've all been there. You can do that with your native language too. It happens with everything. You look at your garden, the park in front of your house and you don't notice the plants, you noticed they moved the benches. You go to another country and suddenly they have tall trees, big flowers, interesting birds. You do too back home, you are just used to them and don't pay attention.

The thing is if you keep using the foreign language, if you ever find yourself surrounded by natives (say, you travel to the country or you move in with many people from there), it won't be the leisure and study language, or the work language. It will be the language, the only one you have for many everyday situations. And you will stop noticing that "lighthouse" is actually "house of light" because what matters is what purpose it serves. Etymology rarely matters in every day life.

There are many words and sentences that are difficult to translate. They usually are the colloquial ones, more than the technical. I always remember that time that our teacher of Russian, in a class of translation Spanish-Russian, stopped the class to ask "How would you translate "culamen"?" because I said that word to a classmate in a joke. He gave us the words for "ass" that could be used in Russian, and added "but the suffix -amen, those connotations would be hard to give, we would need to know what is the meaning behind it, is it a big ass? Does Inés want to offend her classmate? And we work from there". This does not mean that "culamen" cannot be translated. It means it will not be translated with just one word in a 1:1 way.

The lists of untranslatable words that often appear in newspapers and magazines only add to the idea that the only valid translation is "one noun = one noun, one verb = one verb, and so on". They also help turn into something exotic and yes, fetishistic, average mundane words. "Look how the Inuit have this very long word that can only be explained into a sentence for this very beautiful concept that can't be translated" is a falacy. The very long Inuktitut word is actually just that sentence that you used to translate it. You know nothing about how that language works but that is another matter.

There is nothing wrong with enjoying and being fascinated with the mundane in foreign languages, but then, be fascinated with the mundane of your own native language too.

Many people who are bilingual but who aren't really used to translate still believe this is how translation works, that it should be like "what I know about this is what everyone knows about it", "what I perceive is what it is". It doesn't. As the original tweet points out, sometimes you don't want a translation, you want to learn the language, to really learn it.

And if you want to translate, you will have to learn to leave yourself aside because your perception doesn't matter and it *shouldn't* matter. A great amount of time when you are translating goes to double-checking that the word you are using will actually be understood while also portraying the original intentions. And more often than not, all that were just words used for communications, no poetry behind them.

[descongestionandomifacebook]

Botanical expressions in Spanish A few days ago, walking back from work, I started thinking about some expressions based on plants and thought I would share them here on Tumblr.

As always, keep in mind that I speak castilian Spanish, particularly the variant that's spoken in Catalonia (which means it's influenced by Catalan), so it's possible some of these don't exist or are used differently outside of this area!

You may speak on the importance of surrounding yourself with good friends by saying "Those who get near to a good tree are sheltered by a good shadow" ("A quien a buen árbol se arrima, buena sombra le cobija") There's a much more direct connection between friends and trees: You may call your friends "trunks"! "Hey, what's up, trunk?" ("¡Ey, qué pasa, tronco!").

You may also speak of someone as a particular tree (an elm) in a situation where somebody expects something impossible from somebody else, generally something made impossible beacuse of their personality or skills. As it's a little convoluted as an abstract explanation, let me use an example: if somebody is expecting somebody else -who is known to be always late- to be very punctual for an important event and they end up not getting there on time, you may tell them "Well, you can't ask the elm for pears" ("Bueno, no se pueden pedir peras al olmo").

It's a very useful expression, because you are criticizing both parties involved, one for expecting something you know won't happen and the other for being unable to provide it. Great! (?)

If somebody tends to explain themselves in a very longwinded way, or loses track of what they are talking about -or are deliberately trying to avoid a topic by speaking of something vaguely related to the topic (in English you could use the also botannical concept of "beating around the bush")- you may say that they "go away/get away through the branches" ("se va por las ramas").

If something you have to do or experience is boring or unpleasant, you may describe it as "a stick". "This teacher is a stick". "This film is a stick". ("Este profesor es un palo". "Esta película es un palo") It can also be used with the same meaning by itself, as an expression, without its article. "What stick!" ("Qué palo!"). You may also express your displeasure at doing a boring or unpleasant task by saying that "it gives you stick" ("te da palo")

Sticks can also be used to say something is similar to something else, of the same style. "This book is classic sci-fi, of the Asimov stick" ("Este libro es ciencia ficción clásica, del palo Asimov"). It can be simplified ("Classic sci-fi, Asimov stick" - "Ciencia ficción clásica, palo Asimov")

It can also be used to say that what you are saying is imprecise, but similar ("It's an Asimov stick book" - "Es un libro palo Asimov"), which lends itself to another use: meaning you are paraphrasing and while your words may not be exactly what was said, the spirit is ("They told me, stick, what are you reading?" - "Me dijo, palo, qué lees?")

The final evolution of this meaning makes the word "stick" work as an interjection, similar to "like" in the valley girl vernacular, even with similar connotations about the speaker. "I was, stick, totally down" ("Estaba, palo, tope dispuesta")

Finally (I think I've written enough), let's get away from trees for a minute. If you want to describe somebody as very ugly, you could say "they are a thistle". ("es un cardo"). And, if you want to comment on the persistance (or prosperity) of somebody you disapprove of, you could say, "a weed never dies" ("mala hierba nunca muere")

What a stick, most of these expressions are mean or negative... It's a little, stick, depressing. But I'll stop writing before I get away through the branches even more. See you, trunks!

[interculturalchaos]

An end to a journey

Managing Differences: If I Were to Travel to Mexico

Our journey through the beautifully complex country of Mexico is coming to an end. In past weeks, we have learned about various aspects of the country including its education system, prevalent religions, cultural history, and much more. I’ve learned that I know very little about Mexico and pretty much every other country besides the United States. This isn’t because I didn’t study it in school but rather because it’s virtually impossible to fully understand a culture as an outsider, even when you’re immersed in it.

That being said, it is still completely worth it to make an effort to appreciate other cultures across the world. For this reason, I could see myself staying in Mexico for a week or two and having a successful trip. I imagine my initial reaction to Mexico would be culture shock. It would take time for me to adjust to being in a large city not only because I’d be surrounded by another language but also because I am from a small town and struggle when visiting a large American city. After the initial shock, I would expect to face challenges based on my race and my gender. In previous posts, I discussed Mexico’s history which includes struggles with colorism. I am Mexican African American and while I am not dark-skinned, I do have traditionally Black features. For this, I might experience discrimination or prejudice in a similar way to what I experience in America. I am also a woman and since Mexico has similar gender norms to America, I might also experience difficulties in the academic setting that I would expect to be in or when socially interacting with males.

I won’t only struggle with the perceptions others have of me but also with my own perception of Mexico and its citizens. To communicate effectively, I will need to employ intercultural ethics as a sort of guideline to ensure mindfulness. The first of these components is having respect for others and the norms of their culture. Applying this would take the form of not belittling someone’s beliefs, seeking to understand the reason behind cultural practices, and overall gauging what behaviors are appropriate. Intercultural ethics also includes being self-responsible. This means taking accountability for our own actions. So, if I were to insult someone when visiting another country, I should take responsibility for having offended them and apologize. While this may seem like common sense, it’s important to consider because the last thing you want to do is upset someone while taking advantage of their hospitality.

Another essential component to intercultural ethics is to seek commonalities in goals, hobbies, and personality traits. This is important because it requires you to strip away cultural differences and focus on the similarities. If I were planning a trip to Mexico, I would consider the different groups I should seek out. Studying in Mexico means I would be with other students around my age with interests in the social sciences. I could find cooking classes for tourists or research Catholic non-profit organizations because having a passion for cooking and being Catholic are great ways to connect with others.

While I likely will not be able to travel to Mexico any time soon, I can still find a way to connect with Mexican culture in the United States. One way I will engage with Mexican culture is by visiting a Hispanic Cultural Center to listen and learn from others. I will continue to practice my Spanish and try speaking to native speakers in my family and out in public. I could also try one of the numerous authentic Mexican restaurants and stores that sell traditional foods in my area. In the end, the simplest thing I can do is to genuinely appreciate that I am Mexican and that my ancestors lived in a culture that values family and loyalty and has survived centuries of hardships.

[clanoffelidae]

I went home last week to spend time with my family, both as a general vacation and to be there for my mom’s surgery (she’s fine!), and while I was there I found my bracelet that I got while visiting the Naso people in Panama a few years back. Super neat little bracelet and especially since I love brown so much the fact that the base color is an orangey-brown caught my eye instantly. There’s currently a little over 3,000 of their people and the native language (Teribe) has been slowly dying (less than 2,000 speakers remained when I was there), but they’ve been making efforts to continue passing it on to their children and have been met with relative success recently; so their efforts to continue their culture are bearing fruit! They also, I’m fairly certain, were successful in getting their land recognized as a comarca a few years back! (Getting them recognized as an independent administrative district from the surrounding Panamanians, giving them additional rights and governance power.)

They even taught the group of us that were there a few words when we asked, unfortunately I’m not sure where I put my notes for it but I dug up a recording of myself saying the 8 words I was taught which I’ll put down below. I put what each words means in English and my best attempt at remembering how it’s written lol (uses Spanish phonetics). The only one I’m 100% sure of is arrwó which means ‘macaw’. If anyone else can take a better shot at transcribing what I’m saying please do so 😭

The bracelet’s handmade of course, and they were selling lots of other handicrafts as well! I know I bought a peccary tooth necklace that’s somewhere at the house, I’ll try and find it when I go back home for Christmas. They also host visitors every now and then, and I can’t find the link to their site right now but I’ll ask my old prof who headed the trip. It was super cool to meet them and hear about their history, and I’m very thankful they were willing to host us and share their culture with us for a few days. :)

[mytruthandbeauty]

12, April 2023

It’s been almost three years since I left the states and I’ve only been back once when I went to New Orleans to get my things that I had left in storage. That was in August 2021 and it was my misfortune to arrive just before Hurricane Ida hit. That was a mess, but I did manage to get my stuff and I got a COVID-19 vaccination too, so it wasn’t all bad. But what really struck me was how expensive everything was. The food and even the snacks were for me ridiculously overpriced after what I was used to spending in Mexico. I paid a small fortune for both hostels in which I stayed and taxis rides were insanely expensive. Also I had to get used to the unfriendly stares of white people again, but the black folks were cool, so it kind of balanced out as far as the people were concerned. After trying to get a COVID test to fly out and only finding one place where they wanted to charge $200.00 USD I was very relieved when the airline told me I didn’t need one to fly! I did have a wait before air service was restored, but I made the most of the time once I had booked my ticket back to Mexico by relaxing in my overpriced hostel which had a lovely balcony overlooking the street below. I’ve lived in several neighborhoods, Colonias, in Puerto Vallarta, all different, but still the same. In some locations you can get very close to nature while still living in the city. You can be on top of a hill literally, mostly surrounded by jungle and be only minutes by foot from a busy street in the heart of the city or you can be on the edge of the city on still another hilltop with forests all around and just a few houses nestled between the trees. In the latter setting a saw a fair number of farm animals: goats, cows, chickens, horses and a donkey or two. So there were all kinds of setting from which to choose depending on your preference. But speaking of settings, I haven’t spent all my time here in Puerto Vallarta.

In November 2021 I lived in San Cristobal de Las Casas, Chiapas which is in the southernmost region of Mexico. I lived there for one month, but decided it was too chilly for me so I left. San Cristobal was a quiet little town that was very Mexican with fewer gringos than Puerto Vallarta, but there were some foreigners there besides me and I had about the best thin crust pizza there I ever had in my life. It was sold at a tiny little hole in the wall bakery not far from my Airbnb and I loved their pizza so much I ate there almost every day. San Cristobal had many hole in the wall shops like that and my apartment was in Centro, so there’s were plenty to explore and the next street over was pedestrian only, so there were always people milling about and eating at one of the many restaurants. Mexicans love brightly colored churches and there seemed to always be a bright yellow one or a white and blue one in most cities, but Puerto Vallarta seems to be an exception. The churches here seem to be mostly just the orange brick. And of course there were some very creative murals to catch your eye.

After returning from New Orleans I spent about a week in Mexico City. I don’t have much to say about the capital of Mexico except it was big crowded filled with endless traffic and if you weren’t a Spanish speaker it was confusing. It also turned out to be more expensive than my meager budget could afford, so I soon returned to Puerto Vallarta. 

I had come and gone now from Mexico twice and it was obvious to me and those with whom I shared my most personal thoughts, that I did love Mexico and that I could make a life there, but there was one problem; I did not financially qualify for a residency visa. It was the same problem I had in Montreal. When you don’t have much money your choices are always limited. It’s the ugly truth of capitalism, that for many of us if you started out in life with disadvantages piled against you and then society says we’re going to heap even more on you it’s hard to make a financial success and be a responsible person at the same time. However, all that aside there are always options. You might be surprised at how many US Americans and Canadians are in that boat and choose to stay in Mexico illegally and get away with it for years, because the Mexican authorities don’t come looking for people to deport and they don’t seem to care so long as you aren’t a trouble maker. That was always an option for me if I didn’t mind not being able to travel to see my kids again. I did mind, so that wasn’t an option. But for those of you who want to try for residency in Mexico you must start the process in your home country, but that’s all I can tell you as I never went through it myself. So, this spurred me to continue my travels and I went further south.

[daviddshiki]

The Adventures of David Dashiki-Story of an African American Hero- La Corrida- Daddy Dashiki Remembers

THE BULL FIGHT...

Those years in Spain were liberating, emancipating, detaching.  Free from the constant and ever present reminders of my inferior status in my homeland, America, I was free to loosen my spirit of adventure, intellect and creativity upon the universe. I felt free in the realization that I did not have to worry about who I was and what I wanted to do. My friends were all white. We lived in that pension all plagued with the same problems of money or lack of same and rigorous study. All manner of conversation permeated the environment. Not one of which dealt with race, color or ethnicity. We were students hustling to get high grades so that the money expended for our education was not wasted.

However, there was that precious down time in which an explorer like me partook of the rich culture of the Iberian Peninsula. The captivating art, music/flamenco, food and theatre enveloped me. I was surrounded in the art of Picasso, Goya, Velazquez and Dali.in the extraordinarily beautiful confines of the Prado Museum The Flamenco had me repeating the clapping in imitation of the musicians and dancers long after the rhythmic fiesta ended, I dined on paella, arrogant and robust cheeses, mixed gender wines which inspired indeed provoked conversation which ended in the wee hours of the morning. I was not adopting culture . I was becoming that culture. It was such a freeing experience that many nights I had to rest with a prayer of gratitude that I was chosen to study in that glorious country called ESPANA. I still remember vividly the gentility of the human spirit, the love for conversation and the appreciation for life... especially in those Madrilenos. They were excited by the mere act of living

The main cultural event for my roommates and me was the ‘CORRIDA’. Make no mistake I adored the Cante Hondo and the vibrant and frenetic Flamenco. I spent many nights in Las Chinitas and other cabarets listening to the heart wrenching pleas of the singers and observing the long, elegant profiles of the dancers. The clapping, tapping and moans of anguish and confessions pierced my heart. Afterwards, there would be DEEP explanations and clarifications of the music and the passion it elicited from the performers and audience. The wine was copious and the air was filled with emotion, romance and sensuality. These  were not sing -a- longs. The lyrics were, I thought, purposely mumbled to avoid imitation. I was in error with that belief. These were the renditions of souls in pain Every night was unique . Yet they were all similar in many aspects. They were love concerts and the heartache of amor in all forms and flavors. Cante Hondo!

Suddenly, it was the temporada de la ‘Corrida’. The fanaticos were in full bloom...And in a frenzy. To explain the depth of the madness...think of the World Series between the Dodgers and the Giants or the basketball championship with the Knicks and the Celtics. INSANITY INTENSIFIED. MADNESS MULTIPLIED BY ten hundred.  Add a rising body temperature...sort of an athletic animated menopause.. There is too much for the eyes to see or the brain to comprehend. The melodious sounds of Spanish buzzing in your ears, audible to every citizen on the continent...You are that privileged spectator. You nod upon occasion to pretend you hear  and understand what is spoken to you. Even the speaker doesn’t give a damn whether you have heard his comment or not. He continues screaming and pointing at the toreros. You attempt to remember how you arrived at the arena. You are lost for answers. You are a lucky aficionado with a seat close to the action. Just as your ass hits the seat, well almost, the trumpet sound and it’s on. Let the slaughter begin. You start to yell and scream like your new friends sitting next to you. You are a Spaniard now. All thoughts of home are faded memories. Goodbye America. I will never return home...NEVER !

[pinkfey]

it’s weird when your only two ethnic roots that are of some significance to your identity are connected to you via two grandparents

[wososhit]

Wrong timing (alexia x reader)

Note this is set six or seven years ago so Alexia is 21/22

You sat at the bar as music blasted through the speakers and bodies clashed on the dance floor. You decided to study abroad for a semester of university and somehow found yourself in Barcelona. Your classmates, all eager to get drunk and party has dragged you along.

Ready to leave you accidentally met a pair of hazel eyes amid the chaos. Frozen in place you swallowed hard as the mystery women made her way over. You took a steadying breath breath before meeting her eyes once again. Except this time you could see the soft flecks of gold within the hazel. “ hola hermosa soy Alexia” she greeted. “ Um soy y/n” you awkward respond trying to recover from your shock. “Can I buy you a drink” Alexia says picking up on your accent. To which you simply nodded. Alexia smiled and rested a soft hand to the small of your back as she took a small step forward. You fell into comfortable conversation with Alexia. You learned she was a footballer for Barcelona who loved dogs.

Your hand rested on her bicep with hers wrapped around you. You were both so entranced in the conversation you almost didn’t realize your classmates were leaving. Disappointed you were about to detach yourself from Alexia when “You could come to my place” fell from her lips. It didn’t take long for you to agree. The walk to Alexia apartment was short and filled with a comfortable silence as your hand found hers.

Waking up the following morning a pounding headache drowned out the world around you. As you opened your eyes you quickly became aware of your surroundings. Memories of the night before came rushing back and the only proof you needed it was real was the football player sleeping with her legs still tangled with yours. “Buenos dias ” Alexia sleepily mumbled, too tired to translate. You smiled at her half awake attempt at communication as you sat up in bed

Your moment of peace was quickly invaded when you remembered you had a morning class. Hurriedly you got up and threw clothes on as you called an Uber. You waited in silence with Alexia at the front door for your Uber. You and Alexia exchanged numbers and agreed to meet again.

You ended up meeting Alexia for coffee later that week, than dinner, then shopping, then one of her games. By now you weren’t exactly sure what your relationship with the midfielder was. You often kept each other company in bed but also took long walks around Barcelona together under the stars when you couldn’t sleep. Not one to share your feelings you continued with the unspoken agreement of friends with benefit.

Eventually fall had given way to winter and you knew your time in Barcelona wouldn’t be forever. Alexia laid with her head in your lap as a football game played in the background. “ I have a couple days off of training and am visiting my family for Christmas” “ you could come?” Alexia softly asked knowing you wouldn’t have time to fly back to the states with your classes. The offer gave you hope and sent butterflies to your stomach. After much reassurance you wouldn’t be intruding, you happily agreed.

The entire ordeal felt domestic, going to Alexia’s childhood home to be with, maybe it even felt like dating. But those feelings were repressed with the knowledge of your short stay. Plus Alexia would have said something if this was more.

Arriving at the Putellas household you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous even though you have spoken to her mom and sister on the phone. Your worries quickly faded though and the next thing you knew you seated next to Alexia at family dinner. Various relatives had come and thankfully your improved Spanish meant you could talk with everyone. Throughout the entirety of the dinner Alexia’s hand rested on your thigh and inside jokes were easily shared between the two of you.

It wasn’t until you were waking back from the bathroom you heard Alexia’s voice ring out. “Y/n and I are just friends”. At that you froze with a funny feeling in your stomach. Eventually you conceded to the fact that Alexia’s statement was true, as you slowly made your way back.

Later that night as you were playing cards with Alexia her mom came in asking where everyone wanted to sleep. After Alba began arguing about always having to share a room Alexia whispered asking if you wanted to share. You were shocked by the question but quickly said yes.

As you and Alexia were walking into her room Alba had just exited the bathroom. Her eyes went wide and a smirk appeared on her face. “ Just friends huh” she questioned looking at the both of you. “People are trying to sleep” Alexia whisper yelled, before giving her younger sister a meaningful look. Alba to her credit nodded understandingly but the smug look on her face remained.

Soon you and Alexia were once again packing your bags as you bid farewell to Alexia’s family. “ Your family is great” you softly say with a smile. “ their alright” Alexia says staring right back at you with a soft look. You could see through it and knew she really loved her family. On the way back to Barcelona you slept with your head resting on Alexia’s shoulder with your hand holding hers.

The following days were filled with assignments and studying in fact you were so busy you almost missed an email, almost. You had gotten into one of the best business programs in the country. It had been a dream for years and you immediately knew you were to accept.

Your celebrations were cut short but an alarm. The alarm was thag Alexia’s game was starting soon. The Alexia you have hopelessly fell for. You knew you would be leaving the country in a couple weeks as your semester was neatly finished. Busying yourself you put on the game and finished your work to char the thoughts of leaving away.

You were committed to finding the perfect time to tell Alexia you would be leaving. Eventually though that time turned into when you were packing.

You walked into her apartment and as you met the same hazel eyes that swept you off your feet months ago you had to blink away tears. “ Ale I am um” I’m leaving soon” you stated as emotionless as possible. At these words her face fell as she bit her lip, casting her gaze down. “ I knew you would soon” her voice broken in a way that shattered you. Stepping forward you took her into a hug. And she buried her face in your neck. What you didn’t expect was it to turn into a kiss. You broke apart breathlessly “ one more night” Alexia said lacing her fingers with yours. “One more night” you repeated before leading her to the bedroom.

Collapsing your head in Alexia’a chest you committed this feeling and the way Alexia held you to memory. For all you knew you wouldn’t ever feel it again. Feeling Alexia shift slightly under you half asleep body she kissed your forehead before whispering “I love you”

Waking up the next morning you knew you had to leave soon for your flight. Quickly you put clothes on and got ready only to stop in your tracks as you walked back into the bedroom. Alexia was still asleep and her words from the previous night ricocheted in your head.

You realized this was it and quickly found a piece of paper to write “te amo”. You left the note on the table of the side of the bed that had become yours. As you left you refused to break down as you left the love of your life.

Only once you got home you allowed yourself to break down. Expect it didn’t feel like home because home was no longer a place, it was a person.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

I would love to hear your headcanons for the creeps ethnicitys

We had this discussion a LONG time ago on the blog for a few of the creeps, and I cannot remember a lot of it for the life of me, so prepare for my opinions to have changed.

Jeff: Born in Louisiana, moved to Cali when he was younger so he only has a bit of a southern Louisiana accent in him. Prefers what he remembers from Louisiana over Cali culture.

BEN: Born in Florida, with Greek roots from his mom's side. Mostly speaks in a Floridian accent but he has some Greek mixed in from all the time he spent with his mom growing up.

Liu: Like Jeff, Born in Louisiana, moved to Cali. Still has a very very strong Louisiana accent, has a love for things from Louisiana like Jazz and New Orleans cooking.

Jane: Born in California, speaks with a Califiornian accent. Loves and misses her life in California.

EJ: Doesn't remember it, but he was born in Austria. Has a slight accent, but it's somewhat faded because he doesn't have many memories from his time there, and he doesn't have much memory of his language. Mostly speaks in English due to the ease of being surrounded by English speakers.

LJ: Made in the Overworld, placed in England. Speaks with a Cockney accent and is quite happy about that fact.

Toby: Born in Illinois, speaks with an accent. His mom is a big fan of their Chicago roots, and so he takes after her a bit, misses the lakeside.

Tim: Born in Idaho, does not speak with an accent.

Brian: Born in Idaho, does not speak with an accent.

Slender Brothers: Born in the Underworld, their father has Germanic roots, their mother has Italian roots. Slender does not speak with an accent, Trender has an Italian twang, Offender has a muted Germanic twang, Splendor does not speak with an accent.

Clockwork: Born in Alabama, speaks with an Alabama accent. Only thing she misses from Alabama is the food.

Bloody Painter: As I said, Born in France, speaks with the accent. (Click here for the post about Helen being from France that sparked this post.)

Doctor Smiley: Born in Russia, moved to the US with his family as a teen. Still has a bit of a Russian accent, and is still fluent in the Russian language. 

Sally: Born in Oregon, does not speak with an accent, doesn't really have any knowledge of life in Oregon to be attached to.

Jason the Toymaker: Made in the Overworld and only ever lived there. Designed with French aspects, and he has a light French accent, but it's not very strong.

Puppeteer: Born in New York but with Spanish roots, speaks with an amalgamation of a Spanish/New York accent. Misses the hustle and bustle of city life.

Zalgo: Born in the Underworld, doesn't have strong family roots from any sort of country. Doesn't speak with really any accent.

Candy Pop: Born in the Underworld, doesn't have any specific accent. Has a mixed family line from a lot of different roots.

Hobo Heart: Born in the Underworld, but spent a lot of his time on Earth in the midwest. Speaks with a midwest accent.

Nina the Killer: Like Jane, born in Cali, has a Cali accent. Doesn't miss it too much.

Kate the Chaser: Born in Colorado, speaks with a Colorado accent. Misses the freedom of all the outdoor activities she could get up to.