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crazychaoticizzy · 1 year

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Cultural Differences Part 1

You and Armin get assigned to complete a year long project for your Cultural Arts class together. You never thought it would turn into this . . .

WARNINGS: fem!reader, Mexican!reader, fluff, angst, slow burn, eventual smut, college!au, modern!au, Armin is German in this, and they were roommates, trauma revelations sprinkled throughout, slight hints of racism

DISCLAIMER: the reader in this fic is written to be Mexican, however she does not have predominantly Hispanic features described (I think). Y/n can be perceived as anyone since I don’t specify, however just know that she is written to be Latina. This story is also very personal to me, as Y/n is based very heavily off of myself

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Word Count: 3.9k

“Theoretically, if you talked to your roommates about it, could I move in with you?” you asked.

Mikasa’s eyebrows furrowed, and she quickly finished her bite of sandwich before saying, “Yeah, I think they’d be fine with it, and it’d be fun for me. Why, though? Is everything okay with your house mates?”

You continued staring down at the Tupperware container holding your food, moving around a piece of chicken with your fork. “Yeah, we’re fine. It’s just a lot. Hitch brings by a new guy every night and tries to be as loud as possible to make Marlowe jealous. They’re also the biggest group of slobs I’ve ever seen, it’s disgusting.”

Mikasa hummed, bringing her water bottle to her lips and taking a sip. “Right, I forgot they were your roommates.” She set the bottle down, tapping the pads of her fingers against it.

“It also happened again.”

The tapping stopped. “Again?”

You nodded. “Floch misplaced almost five hundred dollars.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes. “Fucking Floch,” she muttered. “And you were . . .?”

She trailed off when you nodded again. “The first one.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Where did it end up being?”

“In his goddamn phone case. Why would you put five hundred dollar bills in your fucking phone case?”

“Because it’s Floch. He’s an idiot.” Mikasa shrugged her leather jacket off, folding it up and placing it in her lap. “I’ll definitely ask Eren and Armin if you can move in. I’m sure they’ll agree, so start getting some stuff together. I’ll talk to them about it later and get back to you, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. It’s fine if they say no, by the way, I’ll figure something out.” You put the fork you were holding down, closing the Tupperware container and pushing it to the side.

Mikasa was silent for a moment before grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m sorry this has to happen to you.”

“Not your fault,” you muttered. Another few seconds of silence passed between the two of you before you said, “I kind of want to cut my hair.”

“Really? I’ve been wanting to do that too, but I don’t know. I’ve been thinking maybe a pixie cut.” Mikasa played with the ends of her hair, running her fingers over them as if to measure how much to cut off.

“That’d look cute. You’d be super pretty with that. What about me, how short should I go? Maybe here?” You held your hand up to just above your shoulder. “Or shorter?”

“Well, you’ve always looked good with shoulder length hair. Maybe a bit shorter this time, though.”

You nodded in thought. “Wanna go get haircuts right now?”

“Absolutely.”

The two of you exchanged a smile, and for just a moment while you cleaned up the table you were sitting at, everything seemed to be just fine.

—

You never talked much to the boy that sat next to you in your Cultural Arts class—a class you had chosen to take purely on a whim. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever exchanged a word with the blond that sat beside you. But when you entered class the next day and took your seat beside him, he couldn’t help but double take.

“You cut your hair,” he observed.

It caught you off guard. You didn’t really talk to anyone in the class, seeing as no one you knew took it and you were too nervous to start a conversation with someone, so it shocked you that someone actually spoke to you.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. You didn’t mean to, but it was force of habit—always talk quietly when meeting new people. You looked up at him, seeing that his eyes were traveling over your profile to admire your haircut.

“You look nice,” he said simply.

Your eyes widened slightly at the sudden compliment.

You thanked him, giving him a small smile before you redirected your attention to the mechanical pencil in your hands, spinning around the eraser.

“I’m Armin.” He continued talking to you. You weren’t complaining, but it suddenly felt like every beat your heart made was amplified. It was distracting.

You looked back up at him and smiled again. “Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

You noticed how pretty he was—how his ocean blue eyes caught the light and the way his golden hair fell over his forehead. His glasses were cute, squareish with a dark tortoiseshell design, sitting halfway down his nose.

His lips curled into a smile, and he nodded. “Likewise.”

He looked familiar. His name sounded familiar, too, but you couldn’t quite place where you might know him from.

Since your professor had yet to enter the class, you decided to attempt a conversation with him. “So how do you like this class so far?”

You’re not sure if you imagined it, but you could have sworn his eyes brightened just a little bit hearing you continue to speak with him.

“I like it so far. I looked over the syllabus the other day and it seems like the class will be going on a couple trips later in the year,” he said. He was facing you in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Really?” He nodded. “Wow, I guess that’s what happens when you attend a really fancy private school,” you reasoned. “Fancy school trips for elective classes.”

“Yeah, I think the trips are more for the people wanting a career to do with culture, though,” Armin said. “What’s your major? You look familiar, maybe I have you in another class.”

“I doubt it,” you said, “but visual arts. Film, cinematography, video, set design, things like that.”

“What are you wanting to get into?”

“I want to be a set designer or producer. I think costume designing would be nice, too, but I know I want to help with movies. It’s always seemed fun,” you said. “It’s not really what Paradis is known for, but the program here is really good. I’ll get some experience in the field before graduating.”

“No, it’s cool. I have a friend wanting to get into the same thing, maybe you know him? His name is Jean Kirstein.”

You thought for a moment, attempting to put a face to the name. “Maybe? I’m not sure, I don’t really talk to anyone to be honest.”

Armin hummed. “That’s fine. I’ll ask him later and see if he knows you, if that’s alright with you.”

You nodded. “Yeah, perfectly fine.”

A smile painted itself onto Armin’s features, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He was about to say something else, but was interrupted by Professor Smith walking through the door.

He apologized for being late, and continued to begin the class by announcing the year long project mentioned on the syllabus.

“You will be working with your table partners,” he said. “The goal is to get to know them and understand their customs. You are meant to learn about their traditions and heritage, as well as their own personal culture and upbringing. I don’t want something that obviously came from Wikipedia, every family does things a little differently. I expect to see that in these projects. At the end of the year you will each be turning in both a written essay and a Google Slides presentation about your partner and what you learned. There will be a rubric on my desk for you to pick up at the end of class.”

Professor Smith gave his students a couple more minutes to silently converse among themselves, most likely so everyone could begin basic introductions with their partners.

You turned to Armin, finding that he already had his head turned and was looking at you.

“It looks like we’re partners,” he said. You nodded as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it, creating a new message box for you to input your number and send something. He handed it to you. “So we can stay in touch better,” he explained.

You took his phone, the dark blue case a nice, matte feeling under your fingertips. You quickly typed in your number and sent a quick hi , feeling your phone buzz in your pocket soon afterwards. You handed his phone back, pulling yours out and changing the contact of his number.

The two of you traded small conversation while you waited for your professor to continue the class. When he started talking again, you tried your best to pay attention to what he was saying (something about Egyptian pyramids, you think), but your mind and gaze kept wandering to the boy sitting next to you.

Little did you know that Armin was in the exact same boat.

—

When Mikasa met up with you for lunch, she started off with saying that her roommates were fine, if not ecstatic, with you moving in. Mikasa hadn’t explained your situation, only saying that you had annoying roommates, and they both accepted almost immediately.

You were practically elated to hear the news. Despite never meeting either of her roommates, Mikasa spoke the world of them to you. You could only assume she did the same with you, speaking to no end about some little thing you did with her roommates.

After lunch she helped you gather your things from your dorm. The two of you were able to fit almost everything into two large suitcases, a smaller one and a backpack. Mikasa helped you carry them to the elevator in the building, and pulled her phone out to text her roommates as you descended.

She talked to you about your room on the way there, mentioning that it was used as a storage room but the three of them had gotten it cleaned out quickly when they came to the agreement that someone else would be staying with them. She also talked about how there was an extra room, something they had discovered behind a wall after they had purchased the house, that they used as a studio for their interests.

“You can set your instruments up in there, if you want,” she said. “They should be fine since Eren doesn’t really go in there.”

Eren, as Mikasa has told you on numerous occasions, was the one constantly up to something. He was stubborn, and only stuck to his ideas with no hope of changing his mind after he made a decision.

You couldn’t remember her second roommate’s name for the life of you, but you knew that he was nice, more reasonable than Eren.

Mikasa soon pulled up in front of a small two story house in a decent looking neighborhood. She parked, grabbing her phone to call someone.

“Get out here and help us,” she said when the receiver had answered. “Y/n’s here, by the way, so don’t be a jackass to her.”

She hung up immediately after saying that. Right as you opened the car door and stepped out, you saw someone with brown hair jogging out the front door to meet you and Mikasa at the car.

He stopped next to Mikasa at the trunk, and helped her pull out your suitcases and place them on the driveway.

You joined them after looking over the house again. It was nice, a blueish-gray exterior with white trim. Nothing seemed like it was about to rot away or fall down, so that was a plus in your book.

“He’s in the shower, he’ll be out in a minute.” That was the only part of their conversation you heard before the brown-haired boy turned to you and gave you a small smile.

Mikasa ended up introducing the two of you, seeing as you didn’t want to initiate conversation and the guy in front of you gave her a side glance. “You should be able to do this yourself. Anyways, Y/n, this is Eren. Eren, meet Y/n.”

Eren gave a curt nod. “Nice to meet you. Uhm, do you have any allergies? I have dinner going in the kitchen and want to make sure you’re not allergic to anything.”

You shook your head. “No, not allergic to anything.”

You spoke quietly again, and you internally scolded yourself for doing so. But then you took his appearance into account and immediately stopped yourself. He was tall, easily one of the tallest people you’ve ever met. He also seemed to carry a lot of muscle under his white long sleeve, and his brown hair was pulled back into a bun to reveal the small tattoo of something you couldn’t figure out behind his ear. His green eyes were piercing, and you couldn’t help but feel he was staring into your soul, learning all your secrets, when he looked at you.

His presence intimidated you, and you silently thanked Mikasa when she told him to start taking things into the house. Eren jokingly rolled his eyes, grabbing one of your suitcases by the handle and wheeling it inside.

“Sorry, he can be a bit”—Mikasa made a motion with her hands, hoping the action conveyed what she was trying to say—“but I promise he’s better once you get to know him. For the most part, at least. Don’t worry, though, he knows you’re one of my best friends and wouldn’t dare pull what he pulls with other girls on you.”

She grabbed the larger suitcase and handed you the smaller one, closing the trunk and locking her car. She gently beckoned you to follow her into the house with a smile, and you followed her.

It was surprisingly put together inside. At least, for a house full of college students. There wasn’t any dirty clothing or dishes lying around, and everything seemed to have a place. It was a bit crowded, but that was likely because of the boxes sitting in the corners.

Mikasa led you to a staircase, where the two of you struggled momentarily to wheel your luggage up before realizing you could pick it up and carry it.

You walked down the hallway to the last door on the right. Mikasa opened it to reveal the sparse room, only being occupied by a bed without sheets.

“This is your room.” Mikasa stood in the center of the room and held her hands out as if what she was showing you was a grand presentation. “It’s a little dirty, but it’s mostly just dust. Eren should almost be done with dinner, so we’ll start putting everything away afterwards, yeah?”

You nodded, reaching behind you to bring in your other two suitcases. You set them in the corner, along with the backpack you had brought with you.

You could hear the shower going; it sounded like it was on the other side of the wall. Mikasa noticed you looking at one of the doors to your right and said, “Oh, that’s just Armin. He’s showering right now. There’s three bathrooms, one downstairs and two up here. The bathrooms up here are shared with the rooms on either side of them, so you’ll be sharing one with him, if that’s alright.”

The name she had said went unheard as you nodded, opening the other door to reveal a small closet with a dresser already inside.

You followed Mikasa out of your room when you closed the closet door for a quick tour of the house.

All the bedrooms were upstairs, you didn’t pay much attention to who they belonged to, but you could tell which one was Mikasa’s—the one across from you, decorated with a Twilight poster and some bookshelves, different knickknacks and book collections on each one. One of her walls was painted black, and had different pieces of paper taped and tacked to it. You spotted a picture of the two of you on her desk, and smiled at the memory associated with it.

She didn’t show you the inside of the other two rooms, saying that her roommates could decide if they wanted you to see them or not.

Downstairs, the dining room and living room were combined, two couches sitting crammed together to make space for the unusually large dining table—rectangular with six seats at it. Half of the table was occupied with unopened mail and other papers, possibly forgotten projects from earlier years, and the other was was completely clean.

It was a rather open house plan. You were able to see into the kitchen from the living room, and saw Eren moving a pot around and grabbing bowls from a cupboard. You followed Mikasa again, and opened the door in the kitchen she stopped in front of to see what was inside.

“This is the pantry. The washer and dryer are also in there, along with, like, other cleaning supplies and things we don’t really use. And then the other bathroom is in the living room,” Mikasa explained.

“Mika,” Eren started, sprinkling some kind of seasoning over the food he had made, “dinner’s almost ready. Go tell Armin.”

Mikasa gave him a thumbs up, telling you something you didn’t quite hear before going upstairs as Eren pulled out a spoon and started scooping dinner into bowls.

You had heard the name, and were trying to figure out where else you knew it from. Obviously Mikasa had mentioned this Armin multiple times in the past, but you swear you knew it from somewhere else . . .

Eren put the big plastic spoon he had been using back into the pot. He lifted a bowl and offered it to you. “It’s fideo. Mikasa said you liked it, so I figured I’d find a recipe and make it for dinner.”

He had pronounced it wrong, but knowing that he had tried to do something to welcome you left a feeling in you that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You took the bowl, bowing your head slightly to thank him and set it at the table.

You turned back towards him. “Do you need help with anything?”

Eren shrugged. “Not really. I mean, if you want to grab drinks you can, but we usually just grab our own.”

You needed something to do—you would feel awkward if you were the only one at the table—so you walked into the pantry and looked around for a moment. You saw a few packs of soda on the floor—all packages of store brand root beer—and bent down to pick up four cans from the only open box.

You walked out and set them down at the table, seeing that Eren had already set the rest of the bowls in their places and was sitting down.

You sat as well, soon being joined by Mikasa. “He’ll be down in a minute. He’s doing his hair.”

You saw Eren jokingly roll his eyes and mumble something that made Mikasa laugh from next to you. You let out a quiet, nervous breath of air in a sad attempt to laugh at whatever joke they shared.

Soon after the three of you started eating, you were joined by a fourth person that sat across from you. You glanced up when you noticed him, noting the familiar blond hair and glasses.

“Armin.” You’re not sure why you’re surprised, you really should have put together that the blond boy in your Cultural Arts class was the same blond boy Mikasa spoke about. Despite that, you didn’t put together until that moment that they were the same person.

Armin glanced up from his phone, which he immediately turned off and put the the side face down. He took the sight of you in with intent, looking over your gestures as if he was trying to commit them to memory.

His blond hair was still damp, sitting on his head flatter than it had been earlier. His skin seemed to be glowing, and the white T-shirt he was wearing hugged his torso and arms in all the right places.

“Y/n.” He said your name in the same tone you had said his, with genuine surprise and wonder. It might have been your imagination, but you think you saw him sit just a little straighter. “So you’re our new roommate?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I guess this’ll make our project super easy.” You smiled at him, and he immediately returned it with his own, one so bright it would have lit up the world if everything went out.

“Oh, so you two already know each other?” Mikasa asked. She wasn’t oblivious to the way Armin straightened his posture after seeing you, the way your eyes unknowingly lit up after realizing he was your third roommate.

She suddenly felt an abrupt protectiveness over you. Mikasa has only ever seen you seem so interested in someone from the very start once, and that didn’t end well. Despite knowing that Armin was a nice guy, that if you two theoretically entered a relationship he wouldn’t hurt you on purpose (even if he ever did hurt you Mikasa knows he would apologize as soon as possible with the most personal apology you would ever see), the thought still made her uneasy.

She trusted your judgment, of course, and in that hypothetical situation where you and him were dating she trusted that Armin would be the best boyfriend you could have, but she knew your past. She knew your habits and little quirks. She knew how you acted and was worried that if anything grew between the two of you, you would just run from your feelings.

She just didn’t want you to get hurt again.

“Yeah,” you said. “We have the same Cultural Arts class. We’re partners for our project.”

“What’s the project?” Eren asked. He was usually unknowing to emotions the people around him felt, but any idiot could see the spark between you and his best friend. He didn’t know you as well as he knew Armin, but you shared the tell-tale signs of interest through the way you were sitting.

He, for one, was rather excited for what might conspire between you and Armin. Since his best friend’s previous girlfriend broke off the relationship, Armin hadn’t searched for anything romantic, saying things like, No one likes me anyways, why would I look for someone that’ll half-ass our relationship?

“Just to learn about each other, really,” Armin said. “We’re supposed to learn about our partners customs and traditions.”

Mikasa hummed, half-way through chewing a spoonful of soup. When she swallowed, she motioned to you and said, “You should tell him about your Quinceañera.”

“What’s a Quinceañera?” Eren asked.

“It’s kind of like a sweet sixteen,” you said. “Kind of. More like a wedding, really, at least that’s what a lot of people describe it as. It’s just a birthday party Hispanic girls celebrate when they turn fifteen to commemorate becoming a woman.”

“There’s so much symbolism behind everything,” Mikasa said, knowing you wouldn’t elaborate further unless asked the right questions. She knew for a fact that Armin and Eren didn’t know the right questions, so she ended it by telling Armin, “Her sister’s having one later this year, so be sure to ask her about it after she comes back from the trip.”

Armin nodded toward Mikasa, silently thanking her for the continuation of conversation. “Definitely. You have a sister?” he asked you.

You nodded. “Rosalina,” you said. “She gathered her court of honor earlier this year and asked her boyfriend to be her main chambelan.”

Armin had not a clue what any of the words you were saying meant, but he knew that he would love learning about the traditions you celebrated.

He was suddenly more excited for this project than he had been.

Ngl this is me writing for the fun of it. This is basically a shameless self insert so…

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Tag List: @kellzyy @slishyrats

#izzy’s imagines ❀#attack on titan x reader #armin attack on titan #armin aot #armin x reader #armin x y/n #snk armin #armin arlert x reader #armin fluff #armin arlert #armin x you #armin x mexican reader #aot fandom #aot #attack on titan #attack on titan x you #aot fanfiction #aot x reader

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sirenofthegreenbanks · 1 month

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2 + 3 + 12 + 33!!!!

had to fish around to find that ask game again!!!!! also hiiiii better late than never :))) :}}}}} <3 i need to tell u smth abt kleo i have Thoughts (not big thoughts this sounds as if its big it isnt i just reconsidered my initial statement that u might not like iiiiit)

2. anything that you'd like to write but feel that youre unable to??

oh yes!!! so much!!!!! even the things im writing bring me constantly into a situation of hair-tearing-out crying-clawing-screaming hitting-head-against-the-wall. i flip-flop between thinking i cant even write what im writing and thinking that im kinda decent. hhhhh. anyway!!!!!

i want to write a solid longfic with extensive worldbuilding. it doesnt matter the genre, just solid and rich worldbuilding where the writing stays consistent and steady until the end is already good. but if i could specifiy, i yearn for it to be a canon compliant/canon divergence/canon era fic with a unique take on canon. i want to write canon era fics in general, but im always hesitant to. i know what happens when i fall into a research hole, it fires up my anxiety. and i want to write scifi or a cool space opera. and i want to be able to write novel fic (of tyk) and not want to die during the process. all these things feel impossible to me :]]]]]]]]

3. how would u describe ur writing style?

i had to think about this for a bit!!!! because my writing style is unfortunately directly connected to my mental stability which is not always. stable. huehe. hmmmm i think my style (given that im doing good!) leans very hard into economical but evocative storytelling; like, i mean the rhythm of oral storytelling. stream of consciousness. prose poetry. poetry slam. i want the words to explode in your mouth and i want it to paint a very clear image in your head. i want people to hear me telling the story! even if the reader (or listener!) cant be there to experience it for themselves, at least i can tell them about it! thats probably because my first experience with story as a concept comes from audio dramas and generally someone reading something to me. thats honestly still the medium i prefer, tbh.

12. if you write in more than one language, whats the difference?

TvvvvvvT

currently i dont write in more than one language, if u dont count non-fictional handwriting bc i write all my notes in my native language. but i still remember how it used to be to write creatively in german. like im always whining about how difficult it is to cast the same image in english as in german; i just dont have that fine motor control over english as i have over german. i can easily switch between gears in german but english still ,, befuddles me pfft. its most noticable when im mucking around drafting and spend more time thinking about fun stuff like correct grammar and correct sentence structure and which word means what in english, than about the story and the characters. it takes so much energy and effort to think about and of all of this, there is barely any space left for the story that im trying to tell. which is def a major drawback for me and one of the reasons that ive been considering to start writing in german again. even though i have uh some baggage there that i dont really want to face. language is so connected to identity and culture. and thats another reason why english is difficult; i know english, aside from school, mostly from usamerican books or from online interactions with usamericans or people talking usamerican. so that has ofc heavily influenced my own english. like, i set all my stories in germany for reasons, but its stupidly hard to draw up the cultural markers because the language itself that im using is already coming with cultural influences from another country. its really strange and confusing, and i would find it fascinating and interesting if it wasnt so frustrating. sometimes it feels like there is a veil between me and what im trying to say, and also as if my thought patterns dont work as they would because the language that should just be a tool to tell a story is already so dominant. thats def smth i hope to change in the future

33. give your writing a compliment!

hmmm. its very earnest. reading my own stuff, even old stuff, i can tell what sort of struggles made it hard to get smth specific onto the page. and sometimes what ends up on the page is not what was supposed to be there in the first place. but its earnest and i can see that. its always the best i can do in that moment, and its always a piece of me because i give so much of myself during the process. thats not always a good thing but its how i am. im glad the earnestness, the sincerity, the love, the faith, the hope, is so visible to the bare eye.

yet another writing ask

#hiiiiiii (waves at u from across the world)#i think u might kleo actually.#like*#because kleo herself is extremely chaotic and fun and her personal story of going from a #tool of the government who never questions what shes been conditioned in and who #doesnt even really know who she is bc shes so walled up in order to survive #towards a strongwilled woman confident in her own choices is so moving #and thats really a big theme for much of the show (mostly in s1)#to make ur own decisions to dare and want more than what others grant u #to have the freedom the autonomy to create ur own life in ur image #i love the virtual storytelling. the way they use the visual medium to their advantage #also!!!! women with guns!!!!!!!!!#the side characters are fun and interesting and unique and #i think u would like theo!!! and uwe!!!!#ros #the mutual tag #fanfiction ask game #ask game #muddling in words and stuff #inbox #also i forgot!!!!! the set design is REALLY cool #like i think u would REALLY enjoy it #its so so so visually fun and authentic it has so much personality #costumes as well

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defilerwyrm · 3 years

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⭐️ Bei Mir Bist Du Schön

FIC SPOILERS AHEAD!

Bei Mir Bist Du Schön on AO3

He opened his mouth to thank Essek but what came out instead was, “Deine Augen sind wunderschön.”

Essek stared at him, perfectly neutral save for the subtle rise of stark white eyebrows. “I don’t speak Zemnian,” he said, flashing his customary, placid little smile.

This is early Essek, well before c2e097, so this is a fully calculated move. That stare is him running simulations in his head, as it were, weighing his options, and he finally decides that he can learn more about Caleb if the guy thinks he doesn’t understand these little asides.

And boy did he ever just learn something juicy.

The second time, he was feeling petulant. Essek was normally a very patient and talented teacher, but there came a time when they butted heads over the best way to work a spell: Essek’s experience and Caleb’s contradicted each other, and neither was willing to admit that he was wrong because they weren’t. Caleb couldn’t have said why they were getting spirited over it. It was unlike them to lock horns this way, and the condescension chafed fiercely.

To my understanding, Wildemount never—at least post-Calamity—had a continent-spanning culture like the Roman Empire that would standardize learning across regions, and the Empire and Dynasty have utterly lacked in cultural exchange pretty much throughout their histories; so I reason that their approach to magic must be very damn different right down to the fundamentals. But, I also reason, magic is like math, in that there’s more than one way to come to a given conclusion—so the same spell cast by an Imperial mage might use different theory and somatic/verbal components with the same results.

I love fic that plays homage to cultural differences, so I figured that there must surely come a point where Caleb and Essek quibble about how to do a thing, with the crux being that they’re both right.

In a fit of pique, he muttered, “Du hast Glück, dass du abartig schön bist, denn du bist so ein Arsch.”

Essek’s head whipped up so fast that, for a moment, Caleb thought maybe he understood after all—but Essek just squinted at him without recognition and said, “I beg your pardon?”

Essek’s poker face is doing triple duty here because Caleb just said he’s hot af but also a dick, and this isn’t a sentiment Essek hasn’t heard before, but it hasn’t really gotten under his skin like it does this time.

Caleb passed a hand over his face and scratched at the beard he desperately needed to shave off. “Nothing,” he lied, “just annoyed with myself. This should be a moment of discovery, now that we know this can go either way. A door has unlocked and we’re both pulling it shut. Can we start again?”

The slip, and Essek’s reaction to it, made Caleb realize that they were both being dillweeds about the whole thing and it wasn’t going to move them forward at all.

It was—of course, of fucking course the intonation mattered. “A tonal shift,” he breathed. He took Essek by the lapels of his robe and shook him gently, and blurted out, “Ich könnte dein Gehirn küssen und dann deinen Mund.”

“What the hell is going on,” Nott squeaked at the same time as Essek chuckled almost nervously, “Caleb, I don’t—”

Hot boi damn near let the cat out of the bag right here. It’s certainly not that he specifically did not want to be smooched at all, but more that 1) Nott was RIGHT THERE so it would be mortifying, 2) he’s still very D: about physical contact and this point, and 3) he’s still very privately going “fuck fuck fuck WHY a HUMAN” about his own attraction to Caleb. There is very much a part of him that Wants That, but the rest of him is just not coping with it at all just yet.

The following morning, though, all he could think about was Dein Bett wäre besser and Essek’s careful fingers touching his face.

Both of them are fully mortified with themselves. They’re ridiculous. I see Caleb heading back to the Xhorhaus with shoulders bunched up, brow furrowed, and wide eyes glued to his own feet as his brain screams “DEIN BETT WÄRE BESSER” at him, mockingly, over and over. Slipping up and confessing your attraction to your crush is relatably horrifying (gods, I’ve been there, it’s awful) and Caleb is predisposed to beat himself up to begin with. Add in the rest of the party making a big deal over the fact that he spent the night over at Essek’s towers and you’ve got an abject storm in that little ginger head of his.

It did not help matters that no matter how much he insisted that nothing happened, the Mighty Nein were dead set on believing that he’d slept with his mentor, and they spent the next three days teasing him about it, none of them aware that he was simultaneously tormenting himself.

Okay so I try to be good and not talk shit about my own work these days, but that sentence just landed in a belly flop for me. I’m not sure it actually gets across what I’d meant, which was that Caleb was beating himself up for a different reason than what they all thought.

In the midst of a messy ambush by three of the wolf-cat eye-beasts, one of them managed to get the drop on Caleb, and it pinned him, screaming, to the ground. Its claws dug fiery punctures into either side of his chest. He thrashed, trying to get both hands up to cast, but it would be too late—his reflexes weren’t good enough. His body had never been nearly as sharp as his mind, and he was about to pay the price in the form of massive, dagger-like fangs lunging towards his throat. He screamed again, chest nearly frozen with fear, when—

Adventurers are generally made of tough stock, but I really wanted to dig into the POV of someone who’s being attacked by a terrifying cerature intent on ripping them apart. “You take 12 piercing damage and are knocked prone” is mechanical and dry; I wanted to show the full in-character implications of those mechanics.

Another fic that represents game mechanics narratively to absolutely stunning affect is Hard Mouth by road_rhythm, which I cannot recommend highly enough. I wrote Bei Mir before Hard Mouth started posting but had it been the other way around, it 100% would have been an inspiration in that regard.

He could not help but murmur, “Götter, ich bins so verschossen in dich.”

Fun fact: I got myself the book Talking Dirty German specifically for writing Caleb dialogue, and it really came in handy here. This idiom is from that book, as did abartig schön. The literal translation is “Gods, I am so shot into you,” which coming to think of it sounds a wee bit dirty but is figuratively very sappy.

Speaking of sappy….

“Das Gefühl ist Gegenseitig,” came the warm and sleepy reply.

Part of this is Essek being barely-conscious, but the bulk of it is this—and this is basically giving away the whole way the fic progresses: pretending not to know Zemnian began as a manipulation tactic to get intel, then became a game of “Let’s see how long it takes you to figure this out, smart boy” as their bond grew and Essek stopped deliberately trying to throw Caleb off, and finally when they were a couple he figured it would be cruel and pointless to keep up the ruse, especially since he’d been growing to appreciate pet names in their mother tongues.

Caleb took a deep breath, set his tea aside, and launched himself at Essek, who yelped, laughing, and danced out of his grasp. Essek led him on a merry chase around the kitchen and held out as long as he could before crying mercy at Caleb’s vicious tickling.

You know, I probably shouldn’t point this out in case my readers hadn’t cottoned onto it yet either, but it wasn’t until like a week after publishing this that I stopped and thought, “WTF happened to Essek’s teacup? Did he take the time to set it down? Did it get dropped and shatter? Did he show off and levitate it?? Did he bring it with him and get tea all over the place and himself?!” Smh…. Choose your own explanation, I guess, lmao.

The rolls were a little burnt that morning, but Caleb had no regrets.

Part of me feels like this is kind of a weak ending, but I justify it to myself by remembering how hard Caleb regretted his slip-ups over the course of the fic. He spends a good bit of copy beating himself up over them, so ultimately I think it fits, even if it kinda lacks punch.

#ask box games #shadowgast #before long my song is dying #critical role #plz how do i fandom

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songtoyou · 4 years

Text

Tempting Fate - Part Three

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Intimacy between two consenting adults.

Word Count: 2,147

Story Summary: Tommy is not a believer in fate or destiny. However, a new resident in Small Heath will question his beliefs and push his boundaries outside his comfort zone.

Chapter Summary: Tommy wakes up from a bad dream and decides to get some air. He finds himself at The Cut late at night. All of a sudden, you show up since you cannot sleep as well. The two of you sit and talk for a bit. Tommy walks you home, and you ask him to come inside for the night.

A/N: Remember, there is no Grace or Greta in this fic. They do not exist in the realm of this alternate universe.

Italics represent Tommy's dream in this chapter.

Please do not post any of my fics to other sites without my permission.

Tag List: @owenniasstars

He was digging, continuous digging. The tunnel was dark and claustrophobic. The 179 Tunneling Company were always stuck in the dark, never knowing who they were fighting. Tommy continued to dig. He was stationed at the front. He was always in the front leading the men to place the mines under enemy lines. Soon, Tommy heard a loud commotion behind him. He turned around but could not see anything. It was still too dark. Tommy dropped his shovel and put his hand out to feel for another tunneller or if the person had epaulets. If they had epaulets on the shoulder, then it meant Germans had infiltrated the 179th’s tunnel. Tommy continued to hear fighting amongst men. Some were screaming out in pain, but as Tommy moved throughout the tunnel, he never found anyone. The screams and digging sounds began to consume Tommy, that he fell to his knees, trying to block out the noise. Tommy felt himself starting to hyperventilate as he could not breathe in the confined space.

“Tommy,” spoke a muffled voice. He looked around to see where the voice was coming from inside the tunnel.

“Tommy,” the voice spoke up again. Tommy was able to distinguish the voice belonged to a female. “Over here,” the voice instructed.

“Who are you?” Tommy asked, but with no answer.

“Come find me, Tommy. Follow my voice.”

Tommy did not know why he was following an unknown voice. For all he knew, it could be a trap set up by the Germans for capture.

Making his way through the dark tunnel, Tommy was able to make out a lighted area. As it got lighter, Tommy could see that no men around. However, a woman was standing alone.

“Who are you?” Tommy asked again, reaching out to touch the woman. He wanted to see her face.

When the woman turned around, Tommy was taken aback. It was you.

Tommy breathed out your name. “What are you doing here? You have to leave, or you will get hurt. You are not supposed to be here,” rambled Tommy.

You smiled at Tommy and walked closer to him to touch his cheek. Tommy leaned into your touch. “I’m here to bring you home, Tommy. You don’t belong down in the dark. Dark tunnels, Battle of the Somme, this isn’t your life anymore. The war is over.”

Tommy shook his head in disbelief. “No. I will always be at war. I’ll never have peace,” he told you.

Tommy grabbed your hands and held them close to his chest. He needed a lifeline, and, at that moment, you were it. Tears began to sting out the corners of Tommy’s eyes.

You cupped Tommy’s face in your hands to look into his beautiful blue eyes. Leaning in, you placed a tender kiss on his forehead.

“Thomas, you have to wake up, now,” you told him. You leaned in again and kissed him on the lips.

Before Tommy could reciprocate, he woke up.

Tommy bolted upright on his bed. He looked around to see he was in his room. He was in Small Heath, not France. Sitting up, Tommy positioned himself against the headboard and took deep breaths to help control his breathing. He looked at his undershirt to see it drenched in sweat.

“Fucking ‘ell,” he said out loud. Looking at his timepiece, it read three o’clock in the morning. There was no way Tommy was going to get back to sleep now. Getting off the bed, Tommy located and laced his shoes. He put on his coat and hat, then headed out of the house. He needed some fresh air, which was not easy to come by in the smog-filled place of Small Heath.

Not many people were out, which to Tommy was pleasant. The less disturbance, the better. Tommy did not know where he was going but allowed his legs to lead the way. It was not long until Tommy reached the Cut. He looked down at the dark water and began thinking about his mother. It was a dark day for the Shelby siblings when they received the devastating news of their mother drowning in the Cut. Nothing was ever the same from then on out, especially when their father up and left.

Tommy, without hesitation, stepped up as the head of the family. None of the other siblings fought him on it as they trusted Tommy to look after them. That is why Tommy pushed so hard to provide for his family. He wanted them to have more and to be more. He did not wish to have the Shelby name only associated with gypsies, travelers, and Birmingham. Tommy Shelby wanted more out of life. He wanted to be someone of importance.

When Tommy heard footsteps approaching, he pulled out his gun and turned around to point it at the unknown assailant. However, he did not come face-to-face with a would-be attacker. Instead, it was you with your hands up.

“Whoa! Don’t shoot!” you yelled, stepping back slowly.

“Shit! What are you doing out so late?” Tommy questioned sternly and put his gun away. “I could have shot you.”

“But you didn’t pull the trigger,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

Tommy was not amused. He walked up to you and asked why you were walking around Small Heath late at night.

You let out a sigh, “I couldn’t sleep. I keep having these weird dreams. What about you? Why are you out here and not at home?”

“Same,” Tommy replied truthfully. There was no point trying to put on a tough front with you, mostly because he was tired and did not have the energy to come up with a lie.

Ever since the night Tommy walked you to the Yard to see his horse, he finally concluded that you were harmless. It was also the night that he realized he wanted you for himself.

“I couldn’t sleep and decided to get some air,” continued Tommy and pulled out a cigarette. He presented one to you, which you accepted.

You touched Tommy’s hand when he offered his match to light the cigarette. The two of you stood around the Cut, smoking in silence. You saw some boxes off to the side and took a seat, which Tommy followed suit.

“If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?” you asked Tommy out of the blue.

He turned to look at you, eyebrows raised. It was an odd question. One had not given much thought. However, the smile on your face helped brighten his sullen mood.

“I don’t know. That is not a question I have ever been asked. What about you? Where would you like to be?”

Without pause, you answered, “The Aran Islands.” When you saw Tommy quirk an eyebrow, you explained, “I remember reading ‘The Aran Islands’ by John Millington Synge. The book is a four-part collection of Synge’s journal entries where he shares his interaction with the Aran Islands people. He also talks about the culture and the language, predominantly Irish speaking, and how the community has a real connection through their stories and history. It reminded me of the traveler’s life, you know. How we use stories to tell the younger generation of our history, that is how we keep our traditions.”

“The Aran Islands, eh, that sounds like a nice place. Fuck it. I’ll take you there myself,” Tommy uttered playfully.

“Really? You would be willing to take me to the Aran Islands?”

“It would be an adventure, something new for the both of us, eh. We can spend our time learning Gaelic and taking in the ocean breeze. Our skin would get dry because of the saltwater, but at least it would a step up from Small Heath,” suggested Tommy. There was a hint of excitement in his voice that was nice to your ears.

“Deal. You better keep hold up to that promise, Tommy Shelby. I would hate to have to leave you behind.”

“Oh, we will go, I promise. I may be a lot of things, but I am a man of my word,” he replied.

After a few minutes of continued quiet, Tommy spoke up, “I better take you home.”

Tommy stood up, stubbed out his cigarette, and offered his hand to you, which you accepted.

As you walked back to your home, Tommy did not let go of your hand. You liked the feel of his large, calloused hand wrapped around yours. Tommy noticed that you began rubbing your thumb against his; it only made him tighten his grip. He was not letting you go.

When you reached the door of your home, you turned back to Tommy. You didn’t want him to leave.

“Do you want to come inside?” you shyly asked him.

“Are you sure?” Tommy questioned, leaning closer to you. “People may talk.”

“So, let them talk. We are grown-ups, are we not? We can make our own choices,” you said and leaned in to kiss Tommy on the lips. It took him by surprise that you were the one to make the first move. He liked your boldness and responded to the kiss. You pulled back to open the front door and pulled Tommy along with you inside the house.

You continued to lead him towards your bedroom. Tommy wrapped his arms around you and began pulling at the buttons on your blouse while leaving a trail of kisses along your neck. He could not remember a time where he wanted someone so bad. Tommy desperately wanted to feel your bare skin against his. He pulled off his jacket and cap and left them on the floor. You both plopped down on the bed, and it was no holds bar. Both of you were fighting to dominate.

Tommy took your wrists and pinned them above your head. The action made you stop to look up at him.

“You’re going to have to let me lead, love. I can take over from here, yeah,” Tommy ordered and traced one of his fingers along your jaw down to your breast. “Now, be a good girl for me and remove your clothes.”

Without hesitation, you took off your garments with Tommy’s help. Not long after, he removed his clothes and was on top of you once again. He ran a hand along your naked body, making sure to squeeze your breasts and tug your nipples. The action elicited a moan from your mouth. Tommy’s hand ran over your stomach and down to your lower region.

“Not quite ready for me, but I will get you ready. Just relax for me, love,” Tommy instructed and slipped a finger between your folds. You arched your back off the bed at the new sensation you were feeling. With your positive reaction, Tommy inserted another finger and began increasing his pumping. Soon, you felt the pulsing between your legs rise throughout the rest of your body. Tommy noticed you tightening around his fingers. You were close and ready, so he pulled out but then lined his cock against the opening of your cunt.

Slowly, Tommy entered inside and allowed you time to adjust to his length. You liked the way Tommy stretched you as he bottomed out. When Tommy leaned down to capture your lips to his, you lightly nudge him to begin moving.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Tommy teased and began a slow pace. He wanted to take his time with you, to appreciate every inch and feel of you writhing against him. It was a more Tommy wanted to savor and burn it to memory.

“Tommy,” you panted, clawing at his back. “I need you to go faster, please. I can take it.”

Obliging to your begging, Tommy adjusted his position, so he was on his knees. He grabbed your hips and began upping his pace. The new position allowed Tommy to hit your sweet spot.

“Oh, shit!” you yelled out at the new sensation you were feeling. It all felt so good, and it only got better when Tommy began rubbing your clit. You were almost close to the edge that you did not think you could last very long.

The bubble burst, and you arched your back and letting out a scream. Most likely, heard by the neighbors or any bystanders on the street; however, you did not care. You were feeling ecstasy at that moment. Tommy followed after you with his orgasm and plopped down on the bed next to you.

Looking over at Tommy, you saw he had his eyes closed and trying to even out his breathing. He looked peaceful and sweet. You could see the boyish charm on his face and not the cold-hearted gangster he showed to the world. You were going to cherish this moment, that you would soon find out would be few and far between.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic

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idontmeantosoundrudebut · 4 years

Text

This is Home (stupid Eretlout oneshot)

Oh hello it is currently 4 am and I've just finished this impulse one-shot about Modern Eretlout haha lol bruh! It's set in Britain by the way, because I'm British and I love my British culture lol! This hasn't been edited by the way so... yeah, it's really bad in my opinion but I need to post some writing because yeah! I'm actually currently working on a long Eretlout fic but I have no idea when/if it'll be finished so haha lol bruh awkward! Oh yeah, warning of abuse and past child abuse and only slightly steamy content, really its just making out and all that!!! haha lol bruh enjoy

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Blood fills his mouth. It drips from his chin, pours from his head, spills from his nostrils.

He opens his red-speckled fist and a tooth lies in the scarlet pool gathered in his palm, it almost looks like gold beneath the glow of the streetlamp that slants into his car. His upper jaw throbs from where he'd yanked out the already loose tooth and he can make out the rivulets of gum-flesh still clinging onto the roots. He stares at it with an unbothered and tired expression.

"Couldn't even punch my tooth outright," He mumbles to himself, opening the glove box and chucking the tooth inside, "Had to yank it out myself,"

It makes a high-pitched clanging sound as it bounces off a half-finished bottle of Captain Morgan and then, silently, it disappears behind the several cigarette cartons that lay piled unceremoniously within (Marlboro Reds, Marlboro Golds, Caramel Blues, Regal Kingsizes, even the odd Mayfair for when he gets desperately low). He reaches a hand inside and rummages through the collection, most of them are empty at this point, he needs to restock and clean out his car, it's been a solid few months since he did that. He shakes a Caramel carton, empty. Another Caramel? Empty. Marlboro Red? Empty. Regal? Ah, lucky day, only half-empty.

A great sigh forces its way through his clogged nostrils and, with the abruptness of a cut artery, blood spatters all over his shirt and along his forearms. His hand freezes mid-air, fingers tight around the bending carton as he blinks slowly, anger simmering beneath his skin because really? Really?! He looks down at his shirt, it was ruined anyway. He'll never get the red out that white, looks like someone's just slit his throat from all the blood that's been pouring down his neck. That table-corner got him good in the head and cut a deep gash just above his eyebrow, the entire right side of his face is crimson with blood and it shimmers in the flickering lamplight.

He bites into the end of the cigarette and lights it with a silver zippo, the flame casting writhing shadows across his blood-spattered hand. The first drag is the best, the first hit to the back of his throat, the first exhale of smoke. Each heartbeat hurts a little less with a little more smoke, a little more tar, a little more death in his lungs.

Snotlout starts the car and drives away. He watches his childhood home disappear around the corner and it feels like goodbye. He can't kind it in himself to be sad about it.

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He parks outside of Eret's house on the edge of the path, walking up to the red door with a tidy black seven nailed on it.

"Oh Snotlout, love, you alright?" Comes a familiar voice and he looks over to see Chantel from next door, wrapped in her dressing gown with a black bin bag clutched in her hands.

Eret's house is tucked in the centre of a row of brick houses, it's the kind of street where everyone knows everyone and everyone knows everything, whether you like it or not. In the last year, Snotlout has gotten to know a lot of people (and a lot of rumours) who live along this here street.

"I'm alright, Chan," He says honestly (because he is alright, it's just a bit of blood and few bruises) and stamps the butt-end of his fifth cigarette in thirty minutes into the cracked path.

"You 'aven't been fighten' again, 'ave you? With those Trapper boys?" Chantel asks severely, a mother of four, she's very intuned to her maternal instincts and even the slightest sign of distress has them flaring up, "It better not be with those Grimborn brothers! I'm telllen' you Snotlout, those two are shady bastards and its best to stay clear of 'em-"

Snotlout lights another smoke, this one from a full carton of Marlboro Red, and spits blood and phlegm onto the grass, tongue prodding the empty socket in his jaw.

"I haven't been fighting, Chan, promise," He reassures her, and that's also true because he didn't fight back at all, it was more of a beat down, "Just a disagreement with my old man, you know how it is,"

Chantel's back straightens like she's been in the army her whole life and she crosses her arms over her chest, red hair wet and shining like blood in the moonlight. Only four of the streetlamps work and they're further down the road, so the road and paths are alight only from the horseshoe moon that hovers amongst the star-filled sky, the black-asphalt gleaming silver. They've been complaints to the council to get them all fixed, but they won't do anything, they never do, they just leave the poor to rot.

She looks like she's about to say something about it, but he shakes his head at her. Instead of telling him to call the police, she says;

"You're bleedin' like a stuck pig all over the place, Lout, people'll gonna be thinkin' that Jack the Ripper is back from the fuckin' dead," He laughs at that and he offers a straight to her, as a thanks for not making a big fuss over finding him bloodied like a murdered boy in the middle of the night, but she shakes her head.

"You're grand, love, I got a pouch this mornin', save 'em for desperate times," Chantel looks him up and down, black eyes near white in the moonlight, "You look like you're in one now,"

Snotlout agrees with her. He waves a hand to bid her goodnight and goes inside. He closes and he turns on the hallway light. The marrow-deep tension in his bones slips away, causing a breath that comes from the very bottom of his tar-clogged lungs to fall from his lips, and his hurting heart finally stops beating against his ribs like a jackhammer as he leans against the front door.

He's safe, he's home. Because this small, shoddy house with its water-stained ceilings and peeling wallpaper and creaking floorboards is home. It's simple and a little broken, but it's home.

"Snotlout?" Eret calls from upstairs, he can see the bedroom light glow up the hallway at the top of the stairs, "That you?"

"Yeah," He takes a generous drag, then exhales slowly, "It's me, sorry I'm late... Went to see my dad, after work,"

Footsteps ring across the house and Eret appears at the top of the stairs, dressed in nothing but a ratty pair of grey jogging bottoms, his terribly handsome torso bare for Snotlout and Snotlout alone to see. He grins proudly around his cigarette at the sight of those hard abbs, those firm pecs, those faint scars, those old gang tattoos. Oh, what a handsome devil he is and Snotlout caught him all on his own.

"Fuckin' Hell, Snotlout!" Eret comes charging down the stairs like a mad horse and Snotlout barely blinks when he comes over to him, large hands gracing over his oozing temple and along his bruising jaw. The touch is very much welcomed.

"What happened? Were you jumped?"

"No, I wasn't fucking jumped-"

"You've lost a tooth!"

"It's in the car, in the glove box, I'll get Gobber to stick it back on,"

"I don't think that's how it works, darlin',"

Eret drags him into the living and posts him on the black vinyl couch. Hookfang, his German Shepherd, immediately bounds over to him and rests his snout on top of Snotlout's knees, wet nose twitching and throat moving with unfurling whines and whimpers. He pets him affectionally between his ears, humming lowly to Hookfang to help ease the old war-vet. Eret goes to snatch the half-smoked cigarette from his fingers, but Snotlout's reflexes are too fast.

"Hey! I'm not done, asshole,"

"Not smokin' in the house is your rule, not mine, I'm just helpin' you out,"

"Fuck that rule, just for tonight, fuck it,"

With a rich laugh, Eret saunters into the kitchen to get the med-kit. But Snotlout saw the concern and anxiety in those dark, earthy eyes and he heard it too in that laugh, it was a little shaky at the end. Hookfang barks at him.

"Easy Hookfang, I'm okay," He barks again, louder, black eyes glistening with fear, "I know pal, there's a lot of blood, but it's okay, I'm okay, soldier," He ruffles the War-dog's neck lovingly, trying to ease Hookfang's unnerved mood and distract him from the blood. It probably brings back bad memories for him.

Eret comes back with the med-kit tucked beneath his armpit and a large bowl of water cradled in his hands. He set it on the coffee table and politely nudges Hookfang out of the way, the Shepherd in turn leaps onto the couch and curls dutifully at Snotlout's side. Such a loyal friend, Snotlout doesn't deserve something as honourable as Hookfang's fidelity.

"Look like a stuck pig," Eret whisper, running a wet dishtowel along the drying river of blood that pours down his face and throat.

"Ha, Chantel said the exact same thing," He chuckles lowly, watching rivulets of watery blood travel down Eret's powerful forearms as he sponges at the blood along his cheek.

"Chantel?" He queries, eyes briefly flickering to meet his.

"Yeah, caught outside just as I was coming in," Snotlout closes his eyes as he lifts his chin so Eret can easily swipe the already stained towel down his throat. It leaves a funny tightness in his gut and a nice shiver ghosts up his spine at the vulnerable display.

"Well, expect the whole street to know by lunchtime tomorrow," Eret replies, then adds, "I mean, I love Chantel to pieces, but by God, she gossips like there is no tomorrow,"

Snotlout nods in agreement, smoking his cigarette and tapping the ash into an ashtray that's always kept on the coffee table, despite his own rule of no smoking in the house. But he's never been good at keeping to the rules, even his own ones. Eret wipes away the twin-tracks of maroon streaking from his nose and begins to wrap the gash above his eyebrow up.

"We'll go to the doctor tomorrow mornin', yeah? Think you might need stitches,"

"Cool," Is his reply, tired and uninterested.

All the blood is finally cleared from his skin. The towel is scarlet. The bowl on the table is no longer a bowl of water, but a bowl of blood. A swathe of bandages is wrapped around his head like a bandana, but there hasn't been any bleed through for a few minutes so Eret looks satisfied (and rather proud) at his nursing work.

After a moment, Snotlout flicks his finished fag into the ashtray and stares into Eret's dark eyes; he's very tired.

"Thanks for patching me up, babe," Snotlout says quietly, not because he doesn't mean it but because he is full of such a sudden exhaustion that it feels well overdue. His head, his brain, needs a good rest or else he's going to start screaming.

"No problem," Eret soothes his large hands up and down Snotlout's thighs, "Now, are you going to tell me what happened?"

Snotlout sighs, big and heavy, hand settling on the nape of Hookfang's neck and running through the dense fur. His heart shudders, his lung quiver, his blood boils, his body doesn't like any of this. Just get it over with, as he did with his dad.

"I told my dad about us. About me... you know, liking guys and all-"

"And he did this to you?" Eret's voice goes low, like a growl of an animal with its teeth bared. Snotlout would be lying if he said it didn't turn him on a bit. Thick fingers curl protectively around his thighs.

"Eret, don't get yourself all riled up about it, okay? It's done. I knew he'd react like this, it's not the first time he's punched me around and called me a faggot, just this time, he actually had a reason to call me one,"

"Yeah, well, it may not have been his first time but it sure as fuck is his last, do you understand?" Eret snarls vehemently, hands moving from his thighs to his hips and sides, Snotlout doesn't even flinch when he accidentally brushes against a forming bruise, "You are never going near him again, Lout, I won't let you be hurt by scum like that,"

Eret's eyes burn. Dark soil and spitting embers in furrowed sockets. The firm frown on his face and the clenching muscles in his jaw, grinding teeth that thirst for a hating man's blood. It's making Snotlout's throat go dry.

"You're hot when you're angry, have I told you that before?" He says lowly and Eret looks at him, vengefulness fading as he takes note of the wanton look in those pale eyes.

"You may have mentioned it once or twice,"

They breathe on each other's lips, tempting, waiting for the first one to move. Hookfang books it upstairs, sensing the heady change in the air.

Eret pushes Snotlout back onto the couch and crawls carefully over him, their lips immediately locking in a wet and obscene kiss that stretches on and on forever. Snotlout moans as Eret forces his tongue down his throat, golden hands skimming beneath his shirt and touching the tender flesh beneath in a skilled and teasing way that drives him mad. They make out for a while, dominating each other's mouths with vigour and gusto till their breathless and sweating.

The bloodied shirt is pulled over his head and Eret stills above him when he sees the black and blue bruises that bloom along his ribs and chest and stomach, even Snotlout gazes at them with morbid curiously. Fuck, his dad got him more than he realised. Not that it matters.

"I'll kill him, Snotlout, I'll kill him," Eret promises in a snarling growl and Snotlout wraps his arms around his shoulders, drawing him down so he can mumble against his lips;

"I know, but fuck me first,"

Of course, Eret complies.

Later, tangled in a mass of sweaty limbs and exhausted desires, Snotlout knows that he'll be okay. With his head on Eret's chest, he closes his eyes and sleeps because he's home, home has always been in those dark eyes, in those large hands, in those warm arms. Home has always been here.

Eret, a wanderer for most of his life, a lost man at sea who was bound for dirty work, has finally found a place to set loose his anchor. Snotlout is home, is the harbour he'll always be homebound to. He'll protect his Snotlout because who is he but a wanderer without his home.

#snotlout whump #Snotlout #eret son of eret #eretlout #fanfic #httyd fanfiction #this is crack

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therenlover · 3 years

Note

shit okay i’m back with more but this time we’re doing nicknames

so i think it’s pretty commonly agreed on that helmut will use german terms of endearment specifically Schatz idk that’s just what everyone seemed to land on (is it cause daniel is german i’m actually curious but that’s not the point) but i see a lot of european terms of endearment but growing up in a half persian family i thought i’d share some commonly used terms in iran that idk anyone could use because imo they’re so sweet and beautiful.

so first there’s azizam, i hear this used a lot with children, but honestly anyone you care deeply about (so loved ones in general) (i don’t know the direct translation so i’m not gonna embarrass myself with that LOL)

then theres joon(am)/jan which is similar to dear from what i understand and this one is used with everyone, even if you’ve just met them

okay this one is weird and idk how it ended up as a nickname but it’s jigar which literally translates to liver but again used more so with children or people younger than you

now there’s also one of my favourites (cause it’s what my grandma calls me) asal which just means honey

okay so if helmut were to use these i think with reader (omg if the reader was iranian tho this makes it hit DIFFERENT) he’d use azizam and asal the most (you can’t tell me he isn’t well travelled the man is royalty) just because those are the ones that seem to make you swoon (i mean they make me swoon) and maybe sometimes he’d throw in one of the ones used for kids just to tease you.

i can just imagine him whispering them between kisses and while lying in bed and it just makes me soft because if i had a partner who embraced a part of my culture i would ✨combust✨

First of all, I’m so sorry I fully believed I had answered this but I am simply boo boo the fool. I’d offer to let you, like, smite me from this earthly plane but there are three people I already promised could do that first, so I’m just gonna go with saying sorry and hoping it expresses my regret.

Now, on to the actual ask!

First of all, all of those nicknames are absolutely adorable. When I wrote my first Zemo fic I went with german because I’m like... 90% sure he spoke at least a little in Civil War and I wasn’t fully convinced that I could use a language with a cyrillic alphabet without fucking something up quite yet. German was a language I had never studied, but I had been around people studying it enough that I figured I had a grasp on the very most basic grammatical structures (the existence of diminutive, where the possessive adjectives go, the existence of gendered words, etc) and any large errors or cultural differences would be pretty easy to fix.... what a fool I was. That being said, I think he would absolutely use nicknames in other languages, especially if nicknames in a specific language meant a lot to his partner, like in your case!!!

Helmut Zemo is a romantic at heart, (you can quote me on this) and also probably has a large education, so like you said I could see him whipping out azal and azizam all the fucking time. Whispering one while cuddling, saying another as he sleepily hugs you from behind in the middle of making breakfast, shouting one as he greets you at the airport; he would absolutely incorporate them into day-to-day life. Anything to see you smile the special smile you give him whenever he says them. He would also ABSOLUTELY use nicknames meant for children to tease you. He’s a romantic first, but a snarky loveable bastard second, so if he was in a playful mood expect lots of nicknames meant for children, especially if you were struggling to do something like open a jar.

Basically, Zemo would happily embrace that part of you and your family (as he should) and would probably prefer to use Iranian terms of endearment because of the way they bring you joy. All of these were so incredibly sweet and I so appreciate you sharing this part of your culture with me <3

#jac rambles #zemo #these were seriously so cute

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sugagimmesugar · 5 years

Text

Would you like to have some Ramyeon?

Cook!Seokjin X Reader fic. Fluff. Youre a cook, hes a cook. Nationality & cuisines clash and thats a lil conflict but not much.

Set in germany, I am german. I wanted to use the contrast between german and korean food since its a food anchored fic.

pls enjoy

First chapter word count approx 2.5k

Chapter 1: Kimchi Stew and Japchae

You had only just gotten out of cooking school, so you desperately needed a job.

On a drunken tuesday night you had decided to just apply to anything. Any restaurant, whether they cooked what you liked or not, whether they had a job opening up or not, you just applied to anything in your city. Of course, the next morning was filled with regret for your half-heartedly written cover letters and how you had basically sent some of the most well-respected restaurants spam applications.

Out of 36 sent applications, only 5 replied. Three were invitations to interviews and two just said "No, thank you." .

So the next week was spent getting ready for interviews at three restaurants or varying prestige-levels. The first one was an old-school family lead restaurant that served german classics. The food you had eaten all your life, the dishes that had made you fall in love with food, with experimenting with old recipes and improving them with new ingredients, techniques and spices. So you were excited, putting your all into the preparation for the interview, even going as far as to bring some homemade cookies, the use of your grandma's recipe meant to charm your way into the owner's heart. Or at least the kitchen.

But as it turned out, the interview had just been a courtesy, the position had been way out of your reach, cookies or no cookies, they had only invited you to tell you how to properly apply to jobs so that they would actually consider you next time.

After a minor breakdown at home, you decided to put your best foot forward at the next interview. A quite prestigious french restaurant, trying to achieve it's first star. It would be a super hard job, plus you'd be cooking food you didn't like, but where better to get experience from than a restaurant that was aiming high on the culinary sky?

To everybody's surprise, the interview went very well, the boss had been impressed by the gutsy decision to apply to a high caliber restaurant right out of cooking school. So they had offered you a job. Only an apprentice, but you would be able to try out the different jobs, making it possible for you to freely decide which part of the kitchen you actually wanted to work your way up in, in the long run.

It really sounded too good to be true. So you decided to think about it. Go to the last interview and see if the other kitchen better suited your person than this fancy french place.

That night, sitting at home, you decided to do some actual research about the last restaurant, seeming you didn't bother with something as trivial as that when you actually applied to it.

The restaurant was very new, it had only been open for a few months, and many of the reviews seemed to be quite angry about the head chefs attitude.

It was a korean restaurant, something quite unusual in Germany. People here aren’t adventurous when it comes to food. Sushi is still some “stupid newfangled idea” to many of your countrymen.

But somehow, the owner and the chef had decided it would be a good idea to serve very spicy food with names the people can’t pronounce to the general public. And somehow, it was working.

While many reviews were annoyed with the attitude of the chef, all of them still loved the food. Many reviewers had written something along the lines of “When I was able to taste something through the pain, it tasted amazing.”, while those who were fine with the spice level only raved about how amazing it had tasted.

Thinking about it, you weren’t sure if you had ever tasted korean food. While japanese and chinese food where quite common by now, korean food was not. Not Yet, as this restaurant seemed to already be making headlines about their cooking, their attention to detail and their refusal to tone down their spice level for their clientele. Which had gained them a lot of respect from the culinary community. Cooking what you want and not listening to everything that the customer says, most of all in the first years of opening a new restaurant, that shows bravery…. Or stupidity.

Looking at the menu and the restaurant’s instagram, you had to admit both the food and the chef looked very tasty. Even though the chef seemed incredibly uneasy about having his picture taken, his face sourly even when he was standing arm in arm with what you had read was his best friend, the owner of the restaurant.

You were curious who you were going to meet tomorrow. The owner or the head chef?

Emptying your drink, you looked at the clock. Only 8 pm. You would’ve thought it would be later by now. But 8 pm meant restaurants should still be taking customers. So you decided to try some korean food, checking out “This Night” before going to the interview tomorrow.

Stepping into the restaurant, you are quite surprised, the minimalistic dark blue and white interior so unusual for a restaurant with prices normal people can afford. You pick a table close to the open kitchen, the almost empty restaurant making you bold enough to stare at the chef working away in his kingdom, the tall, broad-shouldered man easily spotted while he flits through the kitchen, concentrated and working circles around the other cooks.

Ripping you away from your staring, a waiter comes over with a menu.

“Good Evening, would you like to have something to drink already?” He says, smiling down at where you’re already looking at the drink menu.

“I’ll have a cola, and what would you say is the perfect introduction into korean food? I’ve never had it and would like to try it, but I don’t know where to start.” With a small laugh, you look up at the waiter, immediately cursing yourself for your words. It’s not just a waiter, it’s the owner himself, aka the man who received your CV. The man who you’re trying to get to hire yo to cook korean food, who knows what you look like, and who is now laughing at you.

“Ah, you have never had korean food? That’s too bad, but I guess Chef Kim will just have to teach you. I’m glad that you’re at least trying to inform yourself before lying to me tomorrow. I’ll talk to the chef and have him whip up something nice for you.” A bold answer to your stupidity, which makes you remember how young both the owner and the head chef are, both only in their twenties. They obviously don’t care about how restaurants usually work. As you bury your head in your hands, trying to hide the embarrassment on your face, the young man continues: “Looking at the time, I actually have to say that we close in half an hour, but since it’s you, we could pull your interview up a little bit, seeming you’re already here. You can have a drink, on the house, and then join us in the kitchen after so that we can teach you about the food. Mr. Kim gets a lot nicer after hours, so he can cook something for us while we conduct a little interview out here. Would that be okay for you?”

Overwhelmed by the beautiful man in front of you as well as the speed at which all this is happening, you just nod, still somewhat in shock.

You want to bang your head against the table in front of you as your drink arrives, the owner quickly informing you that the chef agreed to the plan as well, so you can just relax and prepare yourself for the upcoming interview. He winks at you as he leaves, pointing at the kitchen.

As you turn, you see the head chef almost hanging out of the hatch, looking at the two of you. He only waves at you before returning to what you now realize to be the beginnings of cleaning the kitchen.

So that’s why the restaurant is so empty. Cursing yourself for your stupidity again, you decide to browse instagram while you wait for what will probably be your doom.

The time goes by faster than you would’ve liked and soon the restaurant closes, the owner locking the doors before waving you over to follow him into the kitchen.

Suddenly you’re standing there, in the restaurant’s kitchen, looking around as the Chef is still busy fixing something.

“I am Kim Seokjin, nice to meet you. I heard you haven’t eaten korean food before? And you’re the cook that applied to work here, right? Why did you apply? Also, here try this, we had some leftovers from the kimchi stew we made for the team before. And I made you some Japchae to have on the side.”

He waves you over and as you try to process the wave of words he just chucked at you, you stammer out: “ Uh, nice to meet you, Chef. I am y/n y/l/n. I have never had korean food before because, to be honest, yours is the first korean restaurant I have ever seen. And I have had no contact with korean culture as far as I know so the food was never brought to my attention. Now that I checked out your website and instagram I am very interested and would like to learn. And I applied because I just got out of cooking school, I need a job.”

Behind you, you hear a short laugh, as you turn, you see the owner, a plate in hand, shoveling food into his mouth as he smiles at you, gesturing for you to go take some from the Chef.

So you take a deep breath and go over to the man who’s still whizzing around at his station, readying yourself to try some completely new food.

Hearing you approach, he quickly grabs some plates, heaping food into both, before he stops in front of you, holding the full plates out to you with a big smile.

“Which is which, and what’s in it? Wait, this looks like a stew, where’s the spoons?” Talking half to yourself, half to the cook in front of you, you set down the bowl with what must be Japchae, and look around for a spoon when one suddenly appears in your field of vision.

“There, now eat.”

You huff out a laugh at his command before you take a big spoon of the steaming hot stew, only blowing it slightly before you taste it.

The spice hits you like a truck, and you can’t help but cough a little. This is not the kind of spice you’re used to. Where you’re from, white pepper is deemed spicy.

At your reaction, the man’s shoulders sag, his expression suddenly only full of disappointment, as you take a deep breath, trying to get through the spicyness.

And then you take another spoonful, and another, and another. And his smile gets bigger with each one, since, although it takes you a while, you are obviously enjoying what you’re eating.

“Ok, so in the stew, we have some pork belly, some tofu, kimchi obviously and some shiitake, as well as onion, green onion, garlic, mirin and soy sauce. Oh, and quite some chili as you noticed.” He says with a smile, counting up the ingredients in his mind as he looks at you.

“ Now try the Japchae, please. It’s my special version, so I can’t tell you what’s in it until you sign the contract. It’s also less spicy, so it’ll give you a little breather after the kimchi stew.”

He holds out a pair of chopsticks that seem to have appeared from nowhere, and again, that smile. You almost choke on your last spoonful of stew at that smile.

As you dig into the Japchae, your eyes widen with surprise. “It’s amazing. This is probably some of the tastiest food I’ve ever had. Thank you, Chef.”

Both of the men are now laughing, the man who introduced himself as Kim Seokjin pointing at his friend behind you: “I told you, Joon. I could get anyone with my japchae. Now do your little fake interview shit so I can start to train her tomorrow.”

This time, you do choke. “Fake interview shit”... what’s that supposed to mean?

You turn around, pulling up your brow since your mouth is still too full to speak. The owner just looks back and forth between the chef and you and says something in korean, a mocking grin on his face at the shocked gasp that leaves the taller man’s mouth.

Seconds later, Seokjin pulls the bowl out of your hands, ignoring your small whine. “You will join our team, right? We could really need the help of someone who actually enjoys our food.”

You think about it, but it doesn’t take long for the obvious answer to pop up, crystal clear in your mind. This is way better than some fancy french restaurant. The owner and the Chef seem like great people and even if the spice needs some getting used to, it’s still some of the best food you’ve ever had. So you nod. And earn a bright-as-the-sun smile for it, which you can’t help but return.

Suddenly you hear a voice behind you: “ If you like her so much why don’t invite her over for some ramyeon?” At your confused face, the owner smacks his own forehead. Which makes him miss the fact that his friend just threw a spoon at him, which hits him in the shoulder.

As your eyes fly back and forth between the two “grown men” the chef just waves you off. “Go sign the contract so that you can go home and I can clean the kitchen for tonight. Work starts tomorrow at 12. Don’t be late.” And with that, he turns away, busying himself with putting food in takeaway boxes and cleaning up the rest of the dishes. So you turn away and follow the owner to the dining room, to sign your contract.

A few minutes later, you have a job. And as it turns out, the opening you applied for was sous-chef. Leaving you with an amazing job without any experience under your belt, but with what seems to be two great colleagues.

As you say goodbye to the owner, who unlocks the front door to let you out, you stutter trying to remember his name. “Uh, Goodbye Mr…” At your panicked eyes, his face drops. “Oh shit, I never introduced myself, huh? I am Kim Namjoon, nice to meet you. We will be expecting you tomorrow at 12 for prep. Good Night y/n.”

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sasslightertm-a · 5 years

Text

ooookay, so, some bullshit™ happened earlier this past week and I’m annoyed and pissed. incoming rant/vent under the cut (with screenshots used by permission).

As most of you who have been following me long enough probably know by now, there is a Charmed Discord server and I was in it for a while until I left in early January 2019, for reasons that will be discussed later. The main mod runs a few Charmed rp blogs here on Tumblr, we did have a few threads planned out together, and eventually after I left the Discord server it got to a point where I felt uncomfortable seeing her posts on my dash so I quietly unfollowed and deleted our thread I’d had in my drafts (which had been sitting there for months by this point anyway because I am slow af). Shortly after I unfollwed her, she unfollowed me without so much a message of “Would you be interested in continuing any threads?”.

This mod, while I was in the server, also created a venting/ranting group Google doc against another Charmed roleplayer who has been around for years and had been in the server as well but also left for much the same reasons I later did (namely, feeling unwelcome within the server). (The Google doc has since been deleted, I believe.)

Which brings me to the main point of this post. One of my close friends/mutuals noticed this mod and the roleplayer starting to interact again when both of them had unfollowed each other for months beforehand after the mod decided this roleplayer was Toxic™.

Uh-huh, sure, I find it very hard to believe you told her about the call-out Google doc and everything in it and she was perfectly understanding about it. I also have yet to hear an apology at all from this mun when 1) the most we would do is talk OOC anyway; 2) my Chris and Bilie were constantly ignored despite me showing interest in some of her wishlist ideas; and 3) any threads we did have would only get two replies in if I was lucky and were then dropped. So I unfollowed ages ago and moved on with other mutuals, and at this point it’s honestly not worth it.

And no, sorry, the server was not inactive when I left it back in early/mid January. Everyone was either in the general, headcanons, or venting channels And yes, any time anyone responded to me it was because I or my friend had said something they wanted to argue with or turn into a headcanon about their own next-generation muses. Also? For all y’all would squee over white US-American YouTuber cover artists or Korean boybands (despite none of you speaking a word of Korean), or the mod occasionally slipping into Arabic and then translating when one of us would ‘???’, the instant I try and share a cover by an amazing Turkish musical-theater singer who speaks German and does German-language musicals (said cover was in English, by the way), or the instant I would talk about something I learned in one of my German classes (despite most of my ancestry being, y’know, German [and for the record, said German ancestors came over to the States in the 1800s, so don’t even go there])... dead silence.

1) oh my gods I’m howling. Thanks for admitting most of the people in the server hate me just because they found my fanfiction and that I like to write dark-themed fics and smut. Out of curiosity, was it one of my FF.net accounts (my main, my Charmed-fic-centric one, or my dark!AU Tenth Doctor-fic-centric one) or was it my AO3? (Also way to go for basically admitting that yup, you’re all a bunch of antis and really be drinking the evangelical fundamentalist Christian purity culture Kool-Aid.)

and btw, saying “complete transparency?” like that is just code for “I’m about to be a petty bitch and you’re not going to want to hear it, but too late.”

also, what, like none of you have ever wanted to write kinky smutty fanfic just because it’s fun and lets you work out various fantasies that may or may not be inherently transgressive? as far as I’m aware I was one of maybe two other people in that server who identify as asexual so don’t even try and say any of youse are sex-repulsed aces.

my smutfic isn’t even that kinky, but go off, I guess

tbh they also probably hate me bc I called them out over their misuse of the word “pedophilia” in regards to this one particular scene in a teen drama TV show between fictional teenage characters being portrayed by adult actors that airs on a network aiming for a 18 to 49-year-old demographic, and the mod and I would disagree over various things concerning US-American Wicca, but hey, it’s easier to just go after my fanfiction and say they hate me because of the fanfics, right?

speaking of that scene they were so up-in-arms about, don’t even try and tell me real-life allosexual teenagers are not horny and don’t have sex with other teenagers, because coming from a state with one of the highest rates of teen pregnancy (where more often than not both would-be parents are teenagers of or around the same age), I will not believe you

like, seriously, do NONE of you remember ever being horny and hormonal as a teenager, or...?

2) Stop trying to make this an argument that needs to be won, because it isn’t. Also? By the time I left the Charmed Discord server didn’t even feel like a Charmed server anyway, so. There’s that.

3) My friend is right and she should say it.

A few things here:

How does any of that sound accusatory when it’s true and my friend calmly laying out how she felt about the situation??

Again, stop trying to make this into an argument or personal attack because it isn’t. And not every single conversation is a debate that needs to be won.

“I was half joking”, uh-huh, yeah, riiiiight. Also? How is it any of your business how she decides to run her blog and curtail it so she feels safe on her own dash??? Especially when you don’t even follow or interact with her anymore?? Hell, I softblock people myself who are either inactive and just taking up my follower account, or are personal/fandom blogs who I just don’t want interacting with me. And if you follow me but don’t make any motion to interact, then yeah I’m probably going to softblock you too after posting a heads-up that I’ll be cleaning out my follower count.

And the best part??? Immediately after all this the mod/mun made a post on her blog saying how she doesn’t put up with passive-aggressiveness or manipulation. How the fuck is my friend/mutual being passive-aggressive or manipulative????

I’m sorry, but no, you do not get to do that. I see what you did there, and it is not okay. And I am glad I don’t have to deal with any of this mun’s bullshit anymore, or most of the people in the server, apparently. They blocked me solely because they found my kinky darkfic? Fine, great, it’s not like any of them ever interacted with any of my muses anyway and I don’t want to deal with them either. (But also... I made it clear on the server that I also write a dark eldritch!AU Tenth Doctor from Doctor Who and they all knew I have a sideblog for the canon evil version of Chris Halliwell so how exactly was it a surprise that I like writing fanfiction with darker themes and grey areas?)

Anyway, no, that language used on my friend was not called for at all. Neither was trying to make her out to be the aggressor when anyone who’s chatted with her OOC for long enough knows that even doing this much is hard emotionally for her. This was also not an argument that absolutely had to be won so quit trying to turn everything into an argument to make yourself look better. And ooh, boy, tone policing on top of that. That last response was classic “I know you’re right but I don’t want to admit it so I’m just gonna say something to make myself look like I came out on top.”

Nah.

There’s the door. Make sure it hits you on the way out.

#outoforbs ( ooc )#rant cw

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hazbin-huntress · 6 years

Text

About me! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Rules: answer 21 questions then tag 21 people you want to get to know better

Tagged by: @littleshebear thanks! ovo

Nickname: Jess. Not much you can do with Jesse ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Zodiac: Gemini

Height: Just a little under 5′7!

Last movie I saw: Into the Spider-verse! (It was so good i wanna see it agAIN)

Last thing I googled: The term stippling.We were talking about that hellish art type we were forced to learn in elementary school where you only use dot by dot and couldn’t remember the name.

Favorite musician: Be damned if I can pick one do you know how much music I listen to. Right now I’m kinda listening between Imagine Dragons and Post Malone but tbh it can change as fast as my mood

Song stuck in my head: Eris Morn - A Destiny Parody by Ravens of the Realm!

Other blogs: I think I have like 2 others but it’s been so long I don’t even remember what they are anymore

Do I get asks: Here and there! I have one in my box asking about a second part for my recent Angst Destiny fic which I’m really excited to do! I hope to get more ovo

Following: 463

Followers: 493 (I know some are probably bots but I’ll take what victories I can get)

Amount of sleep: you want me to be real it depends on the day. My AVERAGE is like 6-ish hours? But sometimes my body either lets me sleep for 3 hours or for 14. Because yknow get fucked amirite

Lucky number: I wanna say 8?

What I’m wearing: My boyfriends DC shirt, his red jacket and some comfy black sweatpants. hell yee

Dream job: I really want to be an entertainer. I know it’s silly, but for the last decade I’ve been watching people like let’s players and youtube personalities who have gotten me through some really tough times. I wanna give back to the community, all I want to do is make other people happy. I know how bad life can be, and I know people have it much worse than I do. But if I can make a difference, if I could make someones day just a little bit better, then I know I’m where I’m supposed to be.

Dream trip: Japan! I would kill to experience the culture that Japan offers, I’ve wanted to go for years!

Favorite food: I don’t remember. My mom makes a lot of great meals, but I’m usually down for anything with chicken or red meat. Like I get really back cravings for red meat sometimes, it’s weird.

Play any instruments: I wanted to learn the guitar when i was younger ;w;

Languages: English is my first language! But I know a bit of German (thanks to my mom’s family) and my weeb ass knows a choppy bit of Japanese. Honestly, I think I know more Japanese than I do German.

Favorite song: Depends on my mood. Right now, Sunflower by Post Malone from the Spiderverse soundtrack is a good one, it’s definitely in my chill playlist.

Random facts:

It’s my boyfriends fault I’m obsessed with this fucking game, now I’m more into it than he is what has he DONE TO ME

I really love baking. My family says I make a fantastic Red Velvet cupcake c:

I’m chaotically organized. Except when I actually need to FIND SOMETHING.

I’d really like to get the courage to star college, but I just don’t feel like I’m ready yet, nor do I have the funds. I don’t want to hop into something when I don’t even know what I’d go for yet, yknow? Except a Business Minor, but that's just for practicality, looks good when you apply for jobs.

I. Love. Mythology. So damn much. Greek, Roman, Egyptian, Norse, aaaa I love it all.

I used to take Tang Soo Do back in middle school.

I’ve known my boyfriend for about a decade now. We met through a friend on Xbox Live back when I was in 6th grade. We were best friends, even if we’d never met online. Then we had a... falling out, if you will? But eventually we started talking again, and then after 4 years of my swallowing feelings saying they were nothing but infatuation spasms and they’d go away, I wrote a damn novel on skype saying I liked him and now here we are! We were long distance for a few months, but now we live together. Our 2 year anniversary is coming up on Feb 28th ^v^

I WANT TO MOVE TO SEATTLE FUCK FLORIDA AAA.

No in all seriousness, that’s where he used to live. His mom invited us to apartment-sit while she and her husband went to England and I felt so alive in that city! It was wonderful, and we’re trying to make our way back there. Can’t rush though, for I am but a child in an almost 20 year old body and the world is terrifying.

Describe yourself as aesthetic things:

Wat. Okay uh. Calm music in the Dark. Journals of writing and drawings. Sitting cozy in bed on a cold day. The Unpredictable outcome of a coin-flip. The Scent of Obsession Cologne. (Used to be my dad’s but now I wear it. It brings good memories. ^^) Hugs from a loved one. The cold air of fall. The uncertainty of an Optical illusion. The vibrations from the bass in you music. Did I do this right h e ck

Tagging: F R I CK OKAY UH @talyn-the-warlock @theglassrose @fireteam-valiant @aislinavalbane @stargazer-titan @xivu-arathole @crystulheart15 @lady-efriyeet AND ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO DO THIS also anyone i tagged you obviously dont have to ;u; This was fun!!

#about the mod #mod #i hope you guys that decide to do it have fun :3

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lananiscorner · 6 years

Note

[6/?] One notable example of German fuckery that will become more and more releveant in the coming weeks is that what is widely known as a Berliner, to me has always been and always will be a Krapfen. But when I ask for a Krapfen I mostly only get weird looks. D: And of course there is the classic "Grüß Gott!" which is even more funny when my very Chinese dad does it. Or my (also Chinese) mum saying Zwetschgendatschi!

Thank you for all your asks, Rhinefall. :)

I’ll get to the rest of them in a minute,but I just wanted to say I had to laugh at your Berliner/Krapfen situation,because you know what? Where I come from, we call them Pfannkuchen. XD For allmy non-German readers who don’t know, Berliner/Krapfen/Pfannkuchen are regionalnames for custard/marmelade-filled donuts with iced sugar on top, exceptPfannkuchen is a ridiculously regional word for those, which in any other partof Germany would refer to pancakes (which is the literal translation of “Pfannkuchen”).

Now that we’ve got the culinary madness outof the way, let’s discuss some Ill Weeds tangents below the cut. :)

[1/12] I have slain the beast! PRUNED THOSEWEEDS! It took me about 50 days for those 300k, but I did it! I probablywould’ve been faster if I didn’t do the procrastination equivalent of fremdschämen.(Fremdzaudern?) I even made some Notes during reading! (Or rather, afterreading a passage that spoke to me xD)

I approve of “fremdzaudern”. What abezauberndes Zaudern :)

[2/?] (Did the prev ask go through? Itlooked like it might not have…) First off, I loved all the little detailsstrewn throughout that seem like innocuous things at first, but a few chapterslater turn out to be central to the plot. It’s like a real detective story,where you can actually follow the thought processes if you really payattention, rather than some pseudo-genius stuff that just came out of nowhere.And Batman-related stories are meant to be detective stories! That’s the point!

It always makes me ridiculously happy whenpeople notice the details and appreciate them. I admit I have a habit of tryingto drop little hints and nudges to pretty much everything I’ve ever writteninto my stories and it’s always nice when it pays off :)

[3/?] Most pieces of fanfic, whenrepresented on a graph displaying the level of tension irt the advance of plotlook like a slightly skewed bell curve (like how I was taught Greek Tragediesare supposed to be), while IWGA was most definitely following the novel-likemodel where it’s like a (rising) sin(x) curve. Every five to ten chapters I’dhave a moment of “That was it, right?” *looks at the chapter count*“Hmm, I guess not. Time for some more fremdzaudern.”

Muahahahaha, fear the chapter count! Iadmit I was a little anxious about just how long IWGA got eventually, because Iwas afraid it was gonna feel like I’m re-hashing the same old h/c over andover.

[4/?] I also loved all those little nods tothe fic that came before (and I assume, after) IWGA in the series. And the factthat the characters developed organically throughout, rather than the sitcommodel of things returning to mostly the same after an episode. I mean, even ourmain POV character Jason realized his own development, as well as that of thosearound him, and IT ACTUALLY HOLDS TRUE! NO RETURN TO THE STATUS QUO HERE, NOSIREE!!!

I think DC’s already doing a fantastic job withthe character development amnesia in the batfam. I’ll gladly leave it to them.

[5/?] And the return of the fuckeryotherwise known as Spanish! Again, reading Latam versions of Spanish as someonewho (mostly) learned Castilian brings its own challenges, but then again, Isometimes have similar problems in German, albeit to a much lesser degree. See,while technically a “Stadtpreuße”, I’m still from Bavaria. Meaning,when talking about things irt culture, esp culinary things, (and sometimesinsults) my word choice (or pronunciation) can be rather weird to otherGermans…

Spanish is such a wonderfully, ridiculouslyvast pond of dialectal differences, I just had to include a little bit of it,especially since Jason spent years living in South America.

[7/?] So while I was in the process ofreading IWGA, I went to see Venom. (That was really soothing, esp since I wenta few weeks after release on a weekday afternoon, for a 2D OV showing. Nary anypeople, it was great! Only downside was a super long ad time beforehand, butthose were okay, esp since they played ads in both German and English, whichwas fun to try and keep up with.) And when I returned to IWGA afterwards, therewas some confusion about the drug shipments. xD

Ah yes, Venom the drug vs Venom thecharacter, although, to be honest, if Bane was so ridiculously strong notbecause of some strange chemical but because he has a symbiote, that would explainSOOOOO many things.

[8/?] When I arrived at the passage abouthow Jason was relieved to not have to stir when boiling rice in plasticpackages, I was confused at first. The first thing my mum taught about cookingrice is that you. Do. Not. Stir. Rice. Doesn’t matter if it’s for regular riceor congee, you. Do. Not. Stir. Then I remembered a German friend talking abouthow they cooked rice, which was basically like you would noodles. Best way toget cheap sticky rice in Europe is pudding rice+“Quellreismethode”,btw

I picture Bruce as having nearly burneddown the kitchen while making pasta once and later doing roughly the same thingwith rice. Hence Jason’s apprehension about the evil trickery of rice boiling.

[9/?] The acronym CCTV is still funny tome, even after all these years. Intellectually, I am very much aware that itstands for closed-circuit television; but instinctively, my brain goes ChineseCentral Television. Because that has been my primary association since wellbefore I even started learning English. And I mean, the Chinese gov is notbeing subtle there. It’s either a stroke of genius or one hell of acoincidence. (And I’m leaning towards the former as an explanation…)

Very definitely not a coincidence.

[10/?] Whenever I see Blüdhaven with an ü,my brain tries to translate it as Blüthafen, as in blooming haven. Which mybrain says is very sensible, given the precedence of fragnant haven, akaHongkong. Bluthafen / Bloodhaven, where? (Generally, adding an Umlaut to makethings more “badass” is like tattooing 鸡汤面 onto your skin. I generally associatemorphing a vowel into an Umlaut with diminutives, so they are very adorable.)(The Chinese example I gave just now is Chicken NoodleSoup.)

Yeah… the “metal umlaut”… also known as“Americans trying too hard”. Every time I write about Blüdhaven, I am temptedto write it as “Bludhaven”, because that really is how they pronounce it in thegame, but then I think 90% of the people who live in Blüdhaven would probablybe the kind of people who’d tattoo 鸡汤面 onto their skin. (And I agree: “ü” is about the cutest-soundingletter the German alphabet has to offer, followed closely by “ö”.)

[11/?] I’m currently at the point in my26hr sleeping rhythm where my brain is like “Good luck trying to keep aschedule in accordance with the rest of society!”, so the level ofacceptance for the Bats’ sleep pattern is like a dream to me. I, too, wish tosomeday attain that level of Does-Not-Give-A-Fuck andYes-This-Seems-About-Right. (As I type this, I realize that I might have lostcount somewhere before… Is this 11 or 12? Either way, it’s Late.)

Let’s be real, the only reason the Bats canafford to have such ridiculous sleeping patterns is because they are either a)working from home (Babs), b) rich by inheritance (Bruce), c) working in a jobthat’s already got fucked up shifts (Dick), d) post-secondary students (Tim),or e) just don’t give a damn what anybody thinks about their sleep patterns(Jason). (I do plan to add Cass to the family soonish, whose approach willbasically be “what is sleep and can I eat it?”)

[12/Rest] Whenever I’m tempted to let myhandwriting deteriorate into mere scribbles, I remember the rather short courseof (German) stenography I had. Because that genuinely is composed of squigglesand scribbles, but with rules and therefore meaning. I don’t entirely likeremembering it because the book we used was fairly old and used a bunch ofoutdated terms. The White Fuckbois of course were like “Haha we’re notusing the word as a derogatory term, it’s a writing exercise!” which wasvery :/ As a final, I loved the way you portrayed the depressive episode, notas sadness, but as executive dysfunction and everything that comes with it; andeven the references to what came before, with being more or less functional insociety, but rather lacking when it comes to the private live (aka FunctionalDepression).

As someone who has checked off at least 2/3of the items on “undiagnosed functional depression” checklist over the last fewmonths, “depression as sadness” fills me with rage. Always has. Plus, I’ve alsoknown way too many people who have actually suffered depression in real life. There’san anon prompt in my inbox asking for a fic about a depressive Jason… we willget there. Just not right now.

Once again, thank you for this wonderful12-part ask, Rhinefall.

#asks #Rhinefall #Ill Weeds Grow Apace #dialectal differences #a whole bunch of tangents #greatly appreciated though #rhinefall

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inimene-skates · 6 years

Text

Kodu [DenEst fanfiction]

Summary: Tallinn, the 1990s. The first foreigners come to Estonia that has recently freed itself from the Soviet terrors. Mathias Kohler becomes one of those daring people while seeking inspiration for his book. Thrilled to find out more about Estonian punk culture, he stumbles upon one of its particularly interesting subjects named Eduard. What follows next is a story about trust and freedom, revolution and philosophy, love and culture. A story about the land where they found kodu – a home.

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15094802

Notes: After my rather prolonged hiatus I finally came up with something decent. I believe this world needs more DenEst since this rarepair is absolutely stunning. All the events in the fic are a mere fruit of my imagination; however, it is based on the events that really took place in the 1990s: the times when the USSR dissolved and Estonia regained its independence. At the time, the punk culture in Estonia was particularly popular.

I have previously posted this fic in its original language (Russian) here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/6731059

The main inspiration of the work comes from a song of the famous Estonian singer Ott Lepland "Kodu", you can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbyOx-1AGNg

There’s a lot of Estonian slang used in this story so please refer to the notes for translations. ___________________ Ma ei oska vene keelt — I don't speak Russian Tõmba nahhui, idikas! — fuck off you idiot Ime lahti! — same as previous Oota — wait Putsi — Estonians would use this word to curse if/when something goes wrong Vend — dude Lilla (also: pede) — fag Keppi mind — fuck me Mida sa tegid? — what have you done? Mul on nii kahju — I am very sorry

Also, I tried to illustrate punk Eduard for you so take a look for a better reading experience! Enjoy!

_____________________________________

Mathias first saw him by Kadriorg. He was the one who the Dane caught his sight of from all six members of that frenziedly formed circle. Mathias could not be sure exactly why: perhaps, it was his hair with its part being tousled up and dyed unbelievably intense, almost acidic, pink, and making him look head up taller than the rest of the gang, even though, in reality, he appeared a rather short person. Perhaps, it was all a cocky look he gave the Dane with his mesmerizing eyes of cornflower color boldly fetched out by what seemed to be poorly blended blackish eye pencil. Or, perhaps, the reason could be the way he stood up front deeply inhaling the smoke of his self-made joint as Mathias approached him.

One way or another, Mathias knew for sure it is this fascinating man who would become the main focus of his next improvised interview.

“Tõmba nahhui, idikas!” One of the fellows standing straight behind the subject of Mathias’ attention and whose forehead was crossed over by an apparently fresh wound decided to move forward with an uncovered attack on a stranger. Mathias could not blame him. In Estonia, the land that tried to make it through the quite tough times, people like him, that is to say, people devoted to the punk culture could only hope for a better perception of their selves. That involved, for a kickoff, a better understanding of the origins and existence of their culture and, ideally, less or no condemnation of the bad habits that most of the punks had, according to the public.

In any case, Mathias knew he did not make any mistake by having chosen him. It seemed to him that the young Estonian himself was the leader of that offhand punk gang judging by how daringly he rebuffed his fellow gang mate with a clear and abrupt ‘oota!’. His frown vanished freeing space for a spark of interest. Hoary smoke disappeared into the soft blow of the April wind, not freezing yet not too warm. He was looking at Mathias and his astonishingly vibrant eyes revealed emotions rather opposite to the light dimming inside his body. To Mathias, it seemed like the tragic but, nevertheless, stunning fate of the Estonian folk itself was reflecting in the eyes of this young man.

“Ma ei oska vene keelt,” The Estonian breathed into the air thickened by the cigarette smoke and locked his eyes with the stranger. Mathias gave him a smile getting his message. In the scope of the latest events, he could not even ask for the opposite.

“Ma ei oska ka vene keelt.” The Dane felt that his Estonian language skills had just reached their limit. “English?”

Someone in this incredible company seemed to have started to be running out of patience. Someone else pocked the leader in his shoulder but he shrugged it off making it clear that the next poke would cost his fellow not a mere shrug but a punch. With the back of the hand. There was someone who smirked and spit on the gravel-inlaid road.

“No English, vend.” Here is where Mathias started losing his hope in the abyss of the language barrier. Up to the point when the Estonian himself restored it by giving it a chance to exist with a soft but clear, “Aber ich kann Deutsch sprechen.”

Mathias’ lips stretched in a wide smile of relief. He knew they would make it work from that time on.

***

Only two things in this world could Mathias not stand – being bound to one place and the lack of inspiration. The prior was pretty hard to live with yet easy to handle. At least, for the man that made a living from writing articles for an independent publisher, finding himself in different points in the world to seek unconditional and outstanding events was quite a regular thing – later on, Mathias used them as sources for the new pieces of word art. He could not say that such activity earned him a fortune though; it happened to be just enough to make ends meet. Not that Mathias longed for more. Most of his time he spent outside the walls of his tiny apartment in Aarhus and in times of inspiration did not care much for a place to sleep or the food offered to him but was thrilled by a single fact of being somewhere new and uncharted. In the end, his every little adventure ended up with a new article sent to the publisher for editing – and off he went again as he found himself at the starting point of a circle of his life.

The inspiration was a completely opposite problem. Especially in the recent times. Although the nineties, the times of drastic changes in the unstable world, gave practically endless room for seeking inspiration, Mathias could not find a single place to plant his seed of creation. Everyone around him was making too much noise about the fall of the iron curtain and the collapse of the entire (post) Soviet bloc. But the Dane found it absolutely boring.

This was how Mathias ended up in Estonia. While the rest of the First World was enjoying the comfort and coziness of their apartments reaping the benefits of the post-industrial society and shaking their heads in disapproval of what was going on beyond the borders of the former Land of the Soviets, Mathias had got enough of this worthless pleasure. The decision was made out of the blue. The Dane visited his office the same day letting the boss know with undoubted valor that he was going to chase an ultimate breakthrough in the art of periodical writing in liberated Estonia.

So here he was, standing in the middle of a paved street road having his light scarf wrapped around his neck and put on the variety of decent tourist equipment: a backpack full of snacks and items he did not even recall, a fresh t-shirt, a new coat and a map with a proud ‘Tallinn’ printed at its top. However, this is where the tourist image of the young Dane came to its limits. Tourism as such was the last thing he sought in this cold land not yet recovered from the terrors of the last fifty years.

Mathias knew exactly what he sought. He sought people that were deemed yet not threatening but rather isolated. The young men wearing high boots and creating colorful masterpieces, that could easily beat up the most professional barbers in the art of hair styling, out of their hair. The young ladies changing the ‘right’ and ‘socially acceptable’ garments for the ultra-short skirts and combing their hair up in the chaotic shape to the point when even the strongest storm could not bother their cocky looks. People that could spit on the ground with no back thinking and drink themselves until they dropped in public, not really caring for anything anyone could say and leaving their feelings and thoughts live within the community of their own where no outsider was ever welcome.

Mathias sought them, the people with no right to be spoken of. The free folk of free Estonia, the folk that the rest of the society called punk, somewhat with disgust, somewhat with generalization. Mathias could not find peace unless he told their story to the world, the story shaped by historical, social and political events that had no equivalent anywhere else on Earth.

And so he went along the streets of Tallinn gathering the tiny pieces of the Estonian punk culture found in the words and faces of those who cherished it and allowed the Dane to take a grasp of it as of their souls and cores. Just when Mathias thought his journey was complete, he met Eduard. And oh, he proved the Dane wrong.

***

“Over here, vend!” A loud voice made Mathias almost let go of his camera, not because of the shock, though. It was more because of how familiar the voice seemed to him, that mellow, somewhat leisurely but also daring voice speaking German with a particular Estonian accent. “Out there, you hear me, vend? Putsi...” said the voice once again and the Dane looked back facing its source. Literally.

It was not the first time he and Eduard met by the Viru Gates. At first, he did not even hope for The Estonian’s consent to come and keep his promise to Mathias. However, here he was. He came to the spot every single day, first bringing some of his fellow friends along who had absolutely no command of German and therefore could not grasp the idea of the talks Eduard and Mathias shared. Soon enough Eduard found the presence of the gang members rather useless and started coming to their ‘usual spot’ by himself. Frankly speaking, Mathias was thankful for the opportunity to have conversations without the presence of any third parties around.

The reason for such an attitude was not really the fact Eduard’s pals did not give Mathias the same inspiration as Eduard himself.

Eduard was not tall. In fact, his height made the Dane look down at him every time they spoke. He was shameless, too. Although his voice revealed no impudence, it did not take the credit off his shamelessness. He was cold as the ice on the Tallinn roads when winter decided to remind the country of its long presence with the snowfall: it did not last long having melted in the early spring sun but as the twilight fell the puddles got deeply frozen causing Eduard to swear in his own language, totally incomprehensive for the Dane yet warm and sweet as latte in the cafe next to the Freedom Square. He was as plain as the rest of one million people forming the population of Estonia. Being one of them but also incredibly different from them, he left no room for comparison, the reason being hidden somewhere in the depth of his cornflower eyes dimmed with black makeup. He was conditional like apartment blocks of Tallinn’s Uus Linn, the New Town, reflecting in the lenses of his glasses yet careless and vibrant like the medieval houses of Vanalinn, the Old Town. Eduard smelled of salt of the Gulf of Finland that washed Tallinn’s shores and sweetness of infamous ginger caramel walnuts spreading the sugary smell all over the Old Town.

Someone might say he was perfect. Flawless. At a time, he was a mere Estonian guy, though, piercing Mathias with his cocky Estonian look and dictating him the rules of this cold land. Mathias did not mind. That was the reason he came here, after all.

This time the way led them to the park bench next to the Orthodox church at Toompea hills where the Dane, slightly amused, was observing Eduard drink out of the beer bottle and catching glimpses of every single passerby. At a certain point, Mathias even thought that he himself became a target for a part of those glances. However, The Estonian could not care less.

“How come you speak such perfect German?” Mathias broke the silence but Eduard did not seem to mind at all.

“My full name is Eduard von Bock,” he said watching his favorite beverage splash behind the dark green glass.

“Does not sound Estonian at all.”

“I come from the Baltic Germans folk. Well, half of me does. Not many of ‘em decided to stay after the occupation. The major part was returned to Germany by the Nazis. Back to the land of fathers where they were said they belonged.” Eduard slipped the glasses back onto the nose bridge where they also belonged. “But not my- what’s the word?” he cut the phrase short trying to remember the correct German word, “Ancestors. We all speak German. To not, like, forget our family roots or something. I don’t give a fuck about the roots, frankly. At least I can speak to you now. More or less a reason to have learned it.”

All this time the Dane was silently scrubbing the pages of his rather old but nevertheless priceless notebook with the tip of the pen. This is how the notes taken in this book usually turned into profound articles. His job was not to judge – he was there to listen, to comprehend, to write things down, to live them though and then to share them with the world. Judgment, in its purest form, was the readers’ job.

“Dare to tell me what you’re writing there all the time?” wondered the Estonian.

“Your story,” the Dane smiled. He could not ignore the change of emotions from amusement to understanding in Eduard’s eyes that followed after Mathias’ line and the way his lips stretched in a smile.

“’Course. You told me before,” smirked the Estonian and decided to finish his drink off. “I’m gonna be popular, ha. Life well spent.”

“Well, for purposes of confidentiality and protection of your personality I’ll have to change your name. For your own good.”

Eduard slipped off the bench carefully looking around to make sure no regular folk or law enforcement officer was watching and threw the empty bottle into the nearest wall observing it break into hundreds of sparkling pieces. Once again, Mathias did not say a word. Eduard put his hands inside the pockets of his leather jacket and, instead of taking back the seat next to the Dane, sat down straight at the cold sidewalk watching Mathias carefully. A sudden breakout of wind tousled his pink hair strands calming down as unexpectedly as it started blowing.

“You’re nice, vend,” he said.

“How so?”

“Well... you’re not from our folk but I guess you have our spirit.” Eduard started rummaging through the pockets of his clipped leather jacket apparently looking for a pack of cigarettes. “You don’t judge. You’re trying to understand us. Usually, all we’ve got is people spitting in our faces.”

“You spit back at them, though,” said the Dane pursuing no purpose of insulting him with those words or point at his imperfections.

“People are weird creatures,” Eduard replied finally feeling a thin body of a cigarette between his fingers and impatiently lighting it on. “They are living in this crap for decades and putting up with shit those idiots are doing to Estonia but can’t stand a view of someone who simply does not look like them. This is why I spit in their faces. Not because they wanna piss off my pink hair or something. I don’t give a fuck. I spit back because they don’t care about the freedom we gave them. Where have they been when we were trying to reach out for the world by transmitting signals via Finland? When we were crafting the self-made transmitters of mercury thermometers in order to receive the broadcasts from Helsinki and spread the freedom of speech? When we were breaking off the Curtain? Where have they all been? Ha, they simply tightened their grip on us as their own opportunity. They saw hope in us. The revolution. We are the cause of the first Song Festival of the Free Land. But now they seem to have forgotten this. Now they are all not worth an old song. This is why I spit in their faces.”

His words forever imprinted in the broad handwriting of the Dane on the pages of his slightly worn out notebook got carried away by the rising wind. Mathias could see with the corner of his eye that Eduard frowned attempting to keep the cigarette lit.

“Jeez, I’m starving. You, vend?” The Dane sarcastically mimicked Eduard with his own nickname watching the Estonian sit on the freezing cold stones of the paved road and have absolutely no worries for the fate of his balls. Mathias genuinely thought that today’s meeting with this shameless young Estonian had come to its end and Eduard would refer to other plans to justify the unwillingness to follow the Dane. However, he did not expect a smile that appeared on the Estonian’s face at that moment.

“Is it on you, then?” he breathed raising up from the sidewalk and Mathias watched his German words disappear into the thin air.

“If you promise to meet me tomorrow at the same spot.”

There was a moment of silence, and Eduard allowed himself to finish his cigarette and give Mathias his verdict.

“Where are you staying?” asked Eduard suddenly giving Mathias an impression that he tried to escape giving promises.

“Anywhere,” he said shrugging. “I don’t need much.”

“That’s dope,” followed the reply and Eduard put the cigarette up by stepping on it. “From now on you’re staying at our condo. I’ve got a room all by myself. If you promise to buy food for everyone, I’m not gonna charge you a kroon for rent.”

Mathias beamed.

***

“Aight vend, here are my boys. Guys,” this time Eduard spoke Estonian addressing his young fellows, “This is Mathias. He’s with me.”

“Here guys, I brought a new dick to stick in my asshole tonight.” Someone in the corner of a great living room made himself heard and the room burst with laughter. Eduard rolled his eyes letting the confused Dane know with the gesture that there was nothing to pay attention to.

“Anyway, from right to left. This is Taavi, he’s joined us recently. We sorta keep an eye on him.” The Estonian pointed at the youngest, to Mathias’ thought, dweller of this spacious flat, and he welcomed the guest with his middle finger. “This,” Eduard stepped over what seemed to be a lifeless body whose soul had definitely departed this cruel world, “Is Erkki. Don’t bother him, he’s a busy man.”

The Dane gave the body whose name had just been identified as Erkki a suspicious look.

“And... what’s so important that he’s doing?”

“He’s thinking of the fate of the Estonian folk,” Eduard concluded seriously shrugging his jacket off and moving on to the next members of his gang. “This is Aare. He got us this condo so his rent share is less than the others’. Here we have Jürgen. He’s got a brain bro, nice working brain. It only works when he’s sober, though. And finally, this is Urmas. Urmas lives for the sake of two things – songs and girls.”

Mathias really had to take his time to get used to the new environment as well as the new housemates who he intended to spend quite some time living with. In reality, there was something more to this excitement he felt in his chest. He was thrilled to realize that the inspiration he was longing for had finally found him here, in the very heart of the punk community that resembled a family more than any other company he had ever seen.

Mathias simply could not believe his own happiness. One shall not lose himself in a dream. One cannot come to the new county, meet such a precious person there in a few days of time and, to sum everything up, blindly trust this person with his own life by accepting the very first offer to come and stay with him and the entire gang of people with the indefinite background. As much as he wanted to, Mathias knew nothing about them. He did not know their reasons to live for, the air they breathed, the sources of their inspiration and ideas or the things that made their lives worth living. Here was where experience came to place. The experience that had the power to distinguish dreams from reality.

Mathias spent the entire night writing. He wrote about the flags decorating the walls, the posters revealing the lines that were banned from use not that long ago. He wrote about the music he could not perceive by himself and sought his new neighbors’ help in order to understand the solid meaning of the lyrics. Mathias wrote about him, about this Estonian sitting on the floor with a recently lit cigarette and his eyes closed in tiredness and a simple wish to face his thoughts. He wrote about Eduard who reached out for the Dane trusting him back, just like Mathias trusted him once, letting him into his little personal world as well as the enormous world beyond the boundaries of his soul. He wrote about his cornflower eyes, his unbelievably calm yet highly inflammable spirit that made Mathias’ heart skip a beat from time to time.

“What are you writing about now?” Eduard spoke and his dense voice reminded the Dane of the cigarette smoke he let through his fingers.

“Urmas lives for the sake of two things – songs and girls,” smiled Mathias and the Estonian gave him a skeptical look.

“Oh yeah, that’s super important. Almost everyone in this room likes girls, you know.”

“Almost?” the Dane asked him back noticing the unease that went through the Estonian’s body as he inhaled the bitter smoke in his lungs particularly deeply.

“You know what they call me? Lilla,” said Eduard avoiding the eye contact. “It actually means ‘violet’, like, a color, you got me? But that’s not really the point here, vend. They use it to insult someone who doesn’t like girls. It means ‘a fag’.”

There was a certain degree of tension settling down in the air after he became silent. At that very moment, Mathias did not feel like joking anymore. Instead, this feeling was replaced by chilling shiver going down his spine, the feeling that usually possessed his body in times of anticipation or shock. The Dane could not say for sure which one of the two feelings prevailed. However, he immediately drew a picture of what could happen in the streets of post-Soviet Tallinn to someone who Estonians called lilla. Someone who could be prosecuted for being lilla not that long ago, if not worse.

“Listen, I can omit this if it makes things better–”

Eduard immediately frowned his blonde eyebrows letting the smoke out of his chest.

“Yea, sure, go ahead if you wanna rid me of my dignity! Not for toffee. I let you in my life, I let you tell my story so do me a favor and tell it right!”There was a sort of anger in his voice but Mathias had no doubt it had nothing to do with the Dane himself but rather with the experience Eduard had faced in a lifetime. “I am not ashamed of who I am. I don’t give a fuck about what those assholes say and what meaning they give to this lilla word. I don’t give a fuck if they’re gonna find me, stab me in the chest or break my ribs. I won’t run. Because you cannot escape from someone who is everywhere. You cannot escape from yourself. It makes no sense! I am not afraid. I am who I am and I’m not alone. Right now we have to hide from the idiots in the streets but I swear to you, the day will come and we will let ourselves be heard. The revolution is not over yet, vend. We are still fighting and we will not stop until we get what we want or die trying.”

Eduard put up his unfinished cigarette leaving it in the common ashtray and stood up to start walking towards his room. He did not even give a chance for the Dane’s disarray to settle by giving him a brief line: “Are you coming or what?” Mathias followed him right away grabbing his stuff from the floor and vanishing behind the door to Eduard’s room until next morning.

***

In the next few days, Mathias’ good old notebook got filled in with notes to the cover. He even managed to find the ways to communicate with the rest of Eduard’s second family (not without his help, of course) whose thoughts and memories he also imprinted in the paper. Mathias tried to grasp every single little moment, every detail of their lives as well as Eduard’s brave and somewhat wise thoughts that came out of nowhere from time to time. Once it happened to him after the Estonian offer him a self-made joint.

“Do you want to die healthy or happy?” asked Eduard raising his eyebrows at Mathias’ refusal to his offer and explanation that smoking does no good.

“You think that dying both happy and healthy is not an option?” he parried. Eduard rolled his eyes inhaling the smoke and letting it out of his deeply smoked lungs.

“How do you even see this, ha? I know no one who would die because he had too much health. We all die. Someone dies from aging, others from injuries or accidents but anyway, everyone dies from an inability to handle certain effects. Everybody is given a particular amount of energy upon birth. Since that moment, we die every day because our bodies slowly give up the energy we were given. And then it gets replaced by exhaustion and tiredness. You simply haven’t felt it yet. But go out there and find, let’s say, a fifty-year-old dude. Ask him a question. Ask him out for a drink tonight and he will refuse. Because it is you who can drink all night long and then wake up at seven in the morning and go waste your life in the office or whatever like nothing happened the night before. He can’t do the same anymore because his body has let go of too much energy in all the years. One day we all come to this thought and then there’s nothing we can do. And so we let go. And as you see it has nothing to do with smoking.”

Mathias gave him a sly smirk but in his mind, he could not help but agree with the fact Eduard’s words did not lack reasoning.

“You’re way too smart for your 22, aren’t you?”

“It’s as easy as pie, vend,” the Estonian shrugged. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about that. There’s nothing too smart about it. It’s just who we are.”

Sometimes Eduard got lost somewhere in town having left Mathias his set of keys to not let the Dane find himself trapped in the apartment (and to allow him to get outside and do some grocery shopping just as agreed). The other day the Estonian would develop certain melancholy which only he could perceive and express by the unwillingness to leave the bed listening to J.M.K.E. and lighting up self-made joints one by one all day long. Mathias just let it be. Very soon both of them started to realize that their lives would have never taken any other direction. The nights they spent being half the time among the other gang members, half the time with each other made their souls collide to the point when they no longer felt that the usual night routine satisfied them both.

That night Eduard made sure the door to his room was locked. He simply did not want a single soul to distract him from the lips that tasted too sweet to Eduard’s thinking. He was the one to take this first step towards being even closer than before and, having made sure the Dane was eagerly reciprocating his insistent, almost demanding kiss, allowed the impossible to happen. The Estonian let him come too close, break through the layers of smeared makeup, pink hair and cocky words to reveal a vulnerable soul in his core. He let the Dane know him as deeply as no one had ever dared to even try to get to know him before.

After all, there was no difference between their bodies rushing together, willing to feel each other’s skin. Eduard lay open and naked in front of Mathias and the Dane contemplated his chest surge heavily, fingers stroking down the ribs, his skin covering some decent muscles underneath, his bluish veins revealing themselves as the Estonian tightened his grip on the Dane’s shoulders, their hips tenderly colliding and making their desires look so obvious. Mathias reached out for his neck caressing it with endless kisses and let Eduard’s hands touch the Dane’s body wherever he wanted. And oh he did just that. He was barely breathing, brushing his fingers against Mathias’ back in slow, soothing movements that trailed down to his hips, found the way to his chest and finally rested on his warm neck. All the differences between them did not matter anymore. There were no boundaries, no history, no culture or politics – anything that would draw a fine line between people in the outside world. In Eduard’s world behind the locked door there was nothing that would remind either of them of the different lives they used to live, though.

So Eduard allowed Mathias to get even deeper under his skin. He allowed the Dane to lock his arms around his body causing Eduard to let out a choked gasp and words whose meaning remained a mystery for Mathias. He allowed him to watch the Estonian arch his spine, to tangle his fingers in Eduard’s hair, to gently put their arousals together shifting the fingers in a soft yet intense touch. A whispering ‘keppi mind’ escaped into the distance between their lips filled with the thick, moist, almost burning hot air and Eduard squeezed Mathias’ waist with his legs letting him in, letting him come closer, letting him thrust into his body, making his insides burn. As they were melting together, the Estonian forgot his own name; he was calling Mathias by his instead for the first time since the very moment they saw each other by Kadriorg. That moment was enough for him to realize that perhaps they would not be a one night stand – and so he got lost in a long, open-mouthed, moist kiss as his body trembled in sweet relief...

As soon as the morning came, Mathias made himself clear about their fate. For the reasons that left the Estonian completely flabbergasted and set him off track, the Dane announced his departure later this evening. His job in Estonia was done and he did not see any other reasons to stay there any longer. At least, this was what Mathias said. He did not even give a single chance to either of them to let things sink in leaving Eduard alone with his bare soul hanging out of his body, shattered and broken into million pieces.

Of course, that was enough for Eduard to throw Mathias out of the condo together with all the stuff he brought in. He did not really incline to any mercy, say any last words or threat him with serious consequences should Mathias ever decide to come back. The Estonian simply did not see any merit in this. Was there any merit in this situation at all?

“Mida sa tegid?” was the only thought that rushed through his mind as Eduard was falling into an unconscious sleep. The regret filled his heart – the regret of having approached the Dane in the first place. If only he had known.

***

“East or West, home is best,” said the infamous expression. Some people praise it as the absolute truth. Others are always ready to challenge its meaning. One way or another, everyone perceives it in their own unique way.

For some of us, home is a place where we first saw the light of day. Indeed, those of us who find such place home contribute to its everyday life in order to make it at least slightly better for themselves as well as the others. For some of us, though, place of birth has nothing to do with home. It is a place that sets such people at a starting line of a lifetime creating numerous challenges and obstacles that make them wonder whether they are actually calling a right place a home. At that point, they wander along in their thoughts seeking a home where their hearts would settle.

Mathias had been running away his entire life. He fled each and every place that bore a threat to him – a threat of becoming attached to somewhere or losing himself. That night, while walking down the streets of the Estonian capital the Dane raised his head to look up at the roofs of two towers forming Viru Gates. Their usual spot. The spot where he and Eduard used to meet. The place that divided the present and the past, split the buildings of the New and the Old Towns as well as two young souls.

“What am I really doing here?” he was thinking. Lonely, lost, having his heart left somewhere in Kadriorg on a cloudy day in April. Standing in the country that used to be foreign to him but seemed to have become something so much more in the end.

Mathias could not tear his glance off the place where the Estonian, whose essence itself smelled of smoke and sweet caramel, waited for him every day the same hour. The paved road broadened in front of him in its medieval glory. The rows of colorful, almost toy-like houses framed the road leading to the place where the Town Hall Square tower proudly winded to the sky. Tiredness and weird thoughts occupied the Dane’s mind and he went through the Viru Gates once again, facing the void of a very familiar spot.

That night he seemed to have lost his ferry ticket to Helsinki, deliberately or accidentally, for he urged to reunite with the light of the cornflower eyes dimmed with the shadows of black makeup, the scent of the hair freshly dyed acidic pink and warmth of the spirit Mathias would never trade for anything in the world.

“Mul on nii kahju,” he whispered as Eduard surrounded him by tightening embrace of his shivering arms.

“Lilla.” That single word was everything the Estonian could say in return, too happy for the sentimental greeting. Mathias did not mind. After all, it was the Eduard he met by Kadriorg. Eduard he never wanted to lose anymore.

***

“Everyone, listen up! I’ve got my contact with the publishing! It means that my book will be translated and printed!” The Dane came back to the apartment on the seventh heaven. The loud cheers followed the announcement, someone in the familiar corner even left out a cheeky comment about all the work Mathias had to do to earn some decent sex that night. That, in return, was followed by a sound ‘ime lahti’ coming from one of the bedrooms revealing Eduard leaning on the door frame and smiling widely.

Surely, Eduard had other ways to express his happiness with the news: that is to give Mathias a particularly deep kiss – behind the closed doors of his room, of course.

“So, does it mean you came up with a final title after all?” Eduard asked exhaling some bitter smoke from a cigarette he reached out for after their lips parted.

“Guess so.”

“Dare to tell me what it is then?”

“Kodu. Home,” replied Mathias. “’Cause this story is about you, about me, about every one of us. About people of this small imperfect land where revolution is still raging. But we’re gonna fight through it, for our home, for our happiness... don’t you think so?”

Eduard just smiled.

#denest #aph denest #aph denmark #aph estonia #rarepair #eduard is punk af #mathias has a thing for a punk boi #the 1990s #punks #eesti #hetalia #aph fanfiction

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sourdoughserenity · 6 years

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10 Facts You Now Know About Me

Rules: Post ten facts about yourself and tag ten people you want to get to know better

Thanks @reylo-ology for tagging me! I really enjoy being a part of this community here and get excited every time I do something more interactive 😁

1. I fell into Reylo after TLJ - I didn't see it AT ALL in TFA and when my husband bought some Kylo Ren plates for our kids I was like, Ew, he's the mean bad guy, why would we want our kids to eat off plates with him on them? And now I look back and laugh at myself and the irony of it all. So anyway, I wound up looking at pictures on Pinterest, and saw some more NSFW type stuff and was like... Oh. Oh. Uh huh. Yeah. MOAR PLEAZ!!!! aaand here I am in the depths of the Reylo Tumblr trash bin. I was not previously acquainted with the words 'fandom' or 'ship' in any kind of meaningful way, and had no idea what I was getting into. But I'm very glad to be here!

2. I speak German as a second language, well enough to teach German 1 (like A1 in Europe). I started learning it in 6th grade and went on exchange in 10th grade to a little town in southern Germany where I lived with a Dutch family and actually learned German. I traveled a lot in Europe and the whole experience really shaped the direction of my life in some importsnt ways. I kept studying in college, but I never managed to do an exchange again. Kind of funny, but when you say 'fic' out loud in English it's basically like saying 'fuck' in German. Stuff like that makes me laugh inside.

2. My husband just told me to include the fact that I'm dead inside. Lol. There are some things, like cute puppies, that I just don't care about. I seriously don't. But watching some things, or seeing people cry in real life, can make me bust out crying too, like nobody's business. So I'm a mixed bag, I guess. But it is true that I'm kind of dead inside.

4. I studied linguistics in college, and can speak conversational Spanish (Caribbean/Latin American Spanish)in addition to German, a bit of Portuguese and Turkish, and some random other things. I know a lot of random facts about random languages. I find the grammatical structures of agglutinative languages really interesting, and I also love phonetics. But I never went on to get a Ph.D because the paperwork scared me. I also couldn't pick one thing that interested me, at the time when I should have been applying. If I went back to school now, I'd focus on phonetics, or linguistic anthropology. I'm a big fan of Daniel Everett.

5. I like to knit and crochet a lot, although I have trouble finishing projects. My grandmother taught me to crochet when I was 5-6, and I learned to knit when I was 6-7 in school. Right now where I'm living I don't have any of my supplies, and I've really missed creating things with yarn this year.

6. I'm obsessed with baking sourdough bread using a wild yeast sourdough starter. The starter is like my pet 😊 again where I live right now it's hard to bake properly, and I didn't bring all my baking supplies with me, but I LOVE making real sourdough. Lol my Tumblr account name. Once I'm back in the US I am so looking forward to baking regularly again.

Some fairly crappy bread I baked here:

7. My parents are both converts to Islam and I grew up going to a mosque in the suburbs of NYC. It was a Sufi mosque and very much not a mainstream kind of experience, from both an American and a Muslim perspective. When I left the little bubble I grew up in it was pretty weird. I didn't feel equipped to deal with mainstream American culture and mainstream Muslim culture, and it's taken me, well, it's still taking me, time to figure out my place in all of this... Lol I walked right into that Rey quote. I love Star Wars.

8. Another part of my bubble was the Waldorf School I attended. Rudolf Steiner, anyone? Anthroposophy and gnomes? It was an interesting, and it some ways great experience going to a Waldorf School. I got to study German and go on exchange, knit in class all the time, make a hammered dulcimer in woodshop, and read and analyze loads of good books and poetry. And learn about homeopathy in my chemistry class lol. It only contributed to my bubble that popped when I went to college, but I'm glad I had the experience I had in school there.

9. Back to Reylo... I am so honored to be working with @shaara-2 in helping her translate the fan fiction she is writing from Italian into English! I love editing, and I understand a bit of Italian (romance languages generally speaking) so that along with Google I'm able to translate the story. I'm her translator/beta I guess you could say. It's been really exciting to work with someone else on creating and contributing to the community here. Shaara is very patient with me when life takes over and I can't work as much as I'd like to (which is a lot of the time).

10. I didn't start a real career until after my kids were born and I was forced to go back to work for financial reasons. I worked as a hostess/server in a bunch of restaurants, including a Korean place, which is where I truly fell in love with Korean food (kimchi is THE BEST), I tutored, and I was a stay-at-home mom for a few years but it was all kind of random till I had to go back and actually help support my family. I became an English-ELA and German teacher, and it's been great. Or at least teaching German has. I don't really like English, haha. But I have enjoyed becoming a professional educator and plan on teaching for a while before I try anything else.

Soo, anyway, I feel like that's my life story. Summed up in 10 facts. I love you all!

I'm tagging @kasiopea-star-wars , @mrsvioletwrites, @darth-ej, @commandercait, @joudoodles, @myreylolifestyle, @pride-and-prejudice-in-space, @my-name-is-jazzy-x, @boomdafunk, @psy-kylo-gy

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serceleste · 7 years

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Well, considering you think Poe and Ben are interchangeable aside from skin color, I think it’s safe to say who doesn’t actually care about Poe here. You only care about Poe and his ‘heritage’ when it suits your agenda of fandom policing and harassment.

The idea that I am only writing about Poe as a substitute for Ben is so laughable I can’t even. If I wanted to write about Ben, I would just write about Ben – and I do! My works list is filled with Ben and Kylo fics! I have at least half a dozen WIPs in my file featuring him! I literally do not give a FUCK what fandom thinks I should care about or thinks I should write; I have always and will continue to write what interests me, regardless of what anyone says. Writing is a hobby and as such I put my effort into characters and ships I love, and I try to treat them all with care and respect. I’m not sure what “consequences” you think I am afraid of; I’ve had negative comments, I’ve had trolls like you harassing me and making ludicrous accusations, and I’m still gonna continue to write what I want. Considering how many months you’ve spent trolling me without getting me to stop should probably have clued you in on that. I will ship things harder out of spite, and thus produce more content. So… congrats? I’m working on something right now, I hope you fucking hate it.

Poe’s heritage is that he was raised on a colonized moon by a pilot and a soldier. He lived on a ranch with a Force tree in the yard and his mother taught him to fly in her A-wing. That is all the canon info we have. Believe me, I have read every bit of tie-in material that exists about Poe, because I love him as a character. He is played by an actor of Latino heritage, that much is true, and his parents, as drawn in comics canon, are correspondingly darker-skinned, but culture as we understand it does not exist in Star Wars. Star Wars is not Earth. Our countries do not exist there. Our cultures do not exist there. The Star Wars universe has had intergalactic space travel for tens of thousands of years, with all the intermarriage and mingling of races that that would create. Attempting to equate that with Earth is frankly ludicrous. Star Wars is not even Star Trek, where there was a more clear-cut difference between planets and races and cultures.

Can a writer draw from Oscar Isaac’s immigrant background and use that to tell a meaningful and enriching story about Poe? Absolutely. If you can, and that interests you, go for it. But it’s not actually canon, so if a person doesn’t write Poe that way they aren’t doing anything wrong, and when done incorrectly it is only stereotypical and borderline offensive. Making Poe constantly eat tamales to make sure we all know he isn’t white isn’t actually a great story-telling technique.

Racism as we know it does not exist in Star Wars. Again, all that co-mingling and space travel. Even the Empire didn’t care what your skin color was – they only cared if you were human or alien. Representation is absolutely important and we as viewers want to see people of all kinds in Star Wars, but the actual characters do not care what you look like and making it an issue is creating a problem that does not exist in the universe as written. Skin color to them is utterly unremarkable, in a way that we as a society are still a long, long way from achieving. We should aspire to be more like the people of Star Wars, rather than try to bring them down to our level.

Fandom is meant to be fun, and if people want to draw from their own cultures in writing a character like Poe, that is absolutely fine. Please do! Latinx kids never got to see someone who looked like them in Star Wars before characters like Bail and Poe. That’s an amazing thing. I hope Poe is important to people because I think he’s a wonderful character. However, drawing attention to his race entirely for the sake of drawing attention to his race isn’t actually progress; it’s a step back. Oscar Isaac is Latino; Poe Dameron is not. ‘Latin America’ does not exist in the Star Wars universe. In Star Wars it matters only that he is human. We don’t even know what planet he is from, or what planet(s) his parents were from. (The only thing we do know, really, is that Shara Bey is not from Alderaan – her canonical first meeting with Leia in Shattered Empire would have gone differently if she were.) He grew up on Yavin 4 – which, yes, was filmed in Guatemala, and because of that Oscar Isaac thought it would be cool if that’s where Poe was from, and it is a cool character detail that I 100% enjoy – but he wasn’t born there, and Yavin 4 has no definitive culture because it was colonized after the fall of the Empire. Families from all over the galaxy came to settle there and begin new lives, bringing with them their own cultures, making it a mish-mash of everything, which is a lovely thought. Poe would have grown up surrounded by all sorts of lifeforms, which doubtless helped shape the compassionate, accepting person he is.

I am also sort of amused that somehow this became an accusation of white-washing Poe when the only thing I disputed was the canonicity of Alderaan as ‘Latinx-coded’. Which continues to be FANON, NOT CANON. Many houses of Alderaan besides House Organa were composed of other races, white and black. But, you know, if you want to ignore that, the current canon is far from giving you the answer you want. Queen Breha – the actual queen, btw, Bail is her consort by marriage, but fandom largely ignores her utterly in favor of Bail – was played by an actress who is not, in fact, Latina; she is of Spanish, Filipino, German, and Australian descent, but that is never mentioned. Captain Antilles of Alderaan was played by multiple white actors. EU character Evaan Verlaine as drawn is particularly blonde and white-appearing. Claudia Gray, who has written three official tie-in novels, uses Tom Mison (white) as her face-claim for the Alderaanian character she created, Nash Windrider. As mentioned before, the amount of intergalactic travel for such an immense length of time, in addition to the fact that Alderaan was often a haven for refugees, makes the idea of a mono-racial planet ludicrous, which current canon agrees with. I am frankly uncomfortable with the way fandom seems to want to segregate all characters played by Latinx actors to one planet, as well as the incredibly generic ‘Latin America’ way it’s often done, as though those countries don’t all have distinct cultures of their own.

I am never going to tell anyone they can’t use their own cultures in their fannish creation. If Latinx fans want to play with the idea of Alderaan as a Latinx planet, please go for it. Fandom should make you happy. As much as I love seeing non-white faces in Star Wars, it will mean an immeasurable degree more to them. When I first saw the ‘space Latinx’ trope, I thought it was kind of awesome, honestly. I have only become disillusioned with the way I have personally witnessed it portrayed, and the corresponding drama attached to it. But no one is obligated to please other people with their creations, and everyone has the ability to scroll past what doesn’t interest them. I am only objecting to the conflation of fanon to canon, and the original suggestion I disagreed with, which was that Alderaan was destroyed because it was Latinx-coded, which is just blatantly false. (As is the accusation that Cassian was killed off because his actor is Latino, in a movie where the entire point was that everyone died. EVERYONE. And Shara Bey? I love her, but ‘dead parents’ is a hugely trope-y and common convention for hero characters. Honestly Poe is a rare commodity in that he had a loving, normal, happy childhood, with one parent still living.)

Anon troll, I know you don’t actually care about anything I have to say and I know you can’t be reasoned with or listen to logic. I know that you are simply latching onto the newest thing you can think of to attempt to scare me off, and that you have never actually read a word of what I’ve written, which is obvious from all of your attacks. I just don’t like stupidity or meanness, hence this post. I hate drama! I really do! I’m in fandom to have fun. I’m not aiming to offend anyone and I fully believe in a ‘don’t like don’t read’ policy, in all its applicable uses – no one has the right in fandom to tell someone they can’t write what they want or ship what they want, despite what you seem to think. But I’m not going to be intimidated by a random anonymous online troll.

And above all, as my friend put it, IT’S SPACE AND IT’S FAKE. If you put a portion of the effort you put into harassing strangers on the internet about fictional characters into crusading for actual real world problems, something might change. Lord knows there are enough terrible things going on to choose from.

Now, kindly fuck off. Did you know that Tumblr lets you block anons? Because I do. And you’re blocked.

#Anonymous #replies #please don't reblog #this has been a post for my own sanity

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todaydreambelieversfic · 7 years

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Author Spotlight: KlaineShip2 day 1

And now for someone a little different... Klaineship2 is a fic translator who translates her favourite fic into German.

DAY 1: Meet the author

First of all I want to thank @damnpene and @spaceorphan18 for finding me worthy to stand in the Author's Spotlight. I feel humbled to be included in the circle of fandom authors, though I don't write original fic myself but I translate them into German.

1. Why Klaine?

In Germany Glee season 1-4 aired from Jan 2011 through Nov 2013. I loved the music. It reminded me of the tv-series 'Fame – Der Weg zum Ruhm' that I had once loved watching (it was about a New York Performing Arts-HighSchool – who remembers kindhearted keyboarder Bruno Martelli or rebellious Leroy Johnson?) and I tried not to miss an episode. Of course it was the German Dub version and while Kurt's German voice is very similar to Chris's, the German speaker overdid it a bit with Kurt's uppity attitude and it took me some time to warm up to him. But when the bullying got worse I connected to him because I'd also experienced bullying during my school days. When Blaine Anderson entered the scene I fell under the spell of the love those stupid boys shared for one another (like you all did, too).

In 2014 Germany stopped airing for whatever reason and I had to wait for the UK-DVD release of Season 5 in October to continue watching (Don't tell me about internet possibilities to watch series from other countries – I am a computer dummy and never knew how to do that) In the meantime I had purchased the Season 1-4 DVDs as well and watched it over and over again in English which made so much more sense to me. During that long break I started to search the internet and found the glee.wiki pages. During a discussion there someone mentioned fanfiction and listed his favourite 5 AUs, including @flamingmuse 's 'Near Misses', which led me to her livejournal, where I fell in love with her fics, which led me to AO3 and that was when I fell into the rabbit hole that is fanfiction, and I didn't find a way back since. When I read a particular entrancing line I sometimes wanted to know what it would sound like in German and tried to translate it. In January 2016 I finally started with a short 600 word story just to see if I could do it, because I am not a professionell interpreter and, well, I kind of liked it and continued translating my favourite stories.

2. What draws you to the kinds of stories you translate?

At first I only read canon compliant stories to fill in all the logical gaps and give me a bit of understanding what went on in those boys heads but then I found some very inspiring AUs as well and I indulged myself in sweet and angsty stories.

So the most important to me are the missing scenes and I started to post translations of my favorite ones for each season. Season 1-3 are completed, and I'm going to start on Season 4 in a couple of days. I am very particular about them being really canon compliant. There are several authors who I adore for these wonderful pieces. These fics don't always have to reveal any specific insights, I love fluffy domestic Klaine just as much and of course some sexy Klaine once in a while.

In AUs I love it when they have really realistic story lines and are not just that overly lovey-dovey stuff. A good AU for me is not just Kurt and Blaine and Love/Sex but real life background. My favourite AUs tell stories about Kurt and Blaine going through very angsty and dark times (like misunderstanding, injury, depression, crime aftermath or immigrant politics) struggling and hurting a lot but coming out of it as stronger and better people. There is also Firefighter!Blaine or Deaf!Blaine but always with a lot of background and context. This background and context is also very interesting to me for a better understanding of US culture (e.g. college / Broadway / Immigrant situation) or to compare it to Germany (e.g. health system / fire department / Deaf Culture)

What kind of stories do you most enjoy? Do you translate fluff? Angst? Sex? Have you ever translated anything way outside your usual wheelhouse? Do you prefer to translate AUs or fic that’s consistent with canon?

Starting with the last question: as I said in the previous answer. I enjoy both: canon compliant stories and AU's with complex storylines and a lot of realistic background, but also domestic every day life with a bit of sex to spice it up once in a while.

Something way out of my comfort zone would be Dom/Sub or hard sex kinks and I never translated that.

But I do translate fluff, angst and sex of course, though I was quite nervous when I posted my first sex scene. It's not always easy to find the proper words to transport the vibe of the situation into another language and I never wanted it to just be vulgar. Since May 2017 I have the wonderful @klaine-rants as a beta and it makes things much much easier when you have someone to discuss it with.

Is there anything you avoid that's particularly hard?

It's particularly hard to translate wordplays or puns though up to date I always managed to find a German equivalent (*knock on wood*). What I completely avoid are topics that include a lot of technical terms or specialized phrases from businesses or branches I know nothing about. Like I really enjoyed 'The Sweet DREAMers' Verse' by @perryavenue about undocumented immigrants but I don't think I could properly translate all those specific terms concerning the administration laws, regulations or institutions. I had a very interesting conversation with her concerning US immigrants politics vs European/German including WW II but still I'd never dare to translate it. Same goes for @adiwriting‘s 'A Minute From The Deep End' which deals with judicial proceedings and court trial.

What do you feel like you bring to the story?

Glee and especially Klaine have many German fans, but not everybody can read the fanfiction in English. By translating it I can share my favourite stories with many German fans who wouldn't have the opportunity to read these stories in their original language. Of course these readers aren't usually on AO3 (understandably, my stories there have not many hits) , which is why I post the translations on www.fanfiktion.de , too. It is the German equivalent of AO3 and my name there is Klaineship https://www.fanfiktion.de/u/Klaineship as well. My translations (which are always linked to the original, as I'd like to point out) have many many hits there and lots of comments and discussion.

Sometimes there is an educational aspect as well. Particularly with my first big multi-chapter-translation of the 'Hearing Verse' by @adiwriting I had to do a lot of research concerning Deaf Culture, Sign Language, educational issues and so on and I provided my readers with a lot of information about similarities and differences between our countries concerning Deaf Culture and Deaf Communities in footnotes after each chapter. If I hadn't translated that story I would never have learned so much about this topic (including a bit of American and German Sign Language). So I think by translating I spread a lot of information to many readers who had never been in touch with Deaf Community before (just like me).

Do you communicate with the author as you go?

Of course! If I like a story I leave kudos and if I love it I leave a comment as well and normally this is my best chance to ask for permission for translation. Only in one case have I gotten a no for an answer, usually the author is thrilled to have their story translated.

Unfortunately some authors don't answer comments in general or my request in particular, and I'll never know, if they just didn't get my request or if they really don't want the translation. So please, if you don't want it, just say so, but don't leave me with 'what if'.

When I started the big multi chapter Hearing Verse almost a year ago, I had a lot of questions concerning Deaf Communities and education of Deaf children and I communicated a lot with @adiwriting who finally even gave me access to all her spreadsheets and timelines concerning that universe.

The only reason I got a Tumblr account about a year ago was to have a better possibility to get in touch with 'my' authors. And there are some authors who even comment on my translations and leave kudos there wich is the greatest praise I could ask for. Thanks to all of you. You are the best!

But unfortunately there are also some authors who not even link their work back to my translation although they get a notification from AO3 as soon as I post. Of course I know that they are not obligated to do so, but they ask me to link my work and I always do and I would truely appreciate if they linked it back as well, so that potential readers see that there is a German version available.

#author spotlight #translator

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casijaz · 7 years

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‘Short’ Compiled Merlin Rant

It’s long. More under the cut.

On the Ending:

One of my favourite things about the show was the lack of historicity. It was placed in “a land of myth and a time of magic,” meaning it has no relation to our reality’s place and time constraints. The show takes elements from the 5th all the way to the 15th century with even 21st century elements added to it, when it comes to costumes, customs, places, names, spirituality, cultures, foods, you name it.

It had knights of the round table sitting around a high medieval feasting court with Morgana dressed in a 21st century dress with romantic-medieval elements, celebrating events with religious undertones in a world without a ‘new’ religion, eating from silver 19th century plates with tomatoes on them. The final scene to this show messed with its own setting and context.

By showing us a Merlin in 21st century Glastonbury walking past the Tor while a truck passes him by places this story in a certain time and place while everything before wasn’t. This means historicity all of the sudden does apply, and leaves us with the implications of racial elements, religious discrimination, cultural discrimination, etc.

By adding this little one minute scene the writers kind of destroyed the wonderful setting they had, where pretty much anything was possible. For me, personally, I loved seeing black people around Camelot without any reasoning for why they might be there. No story of “my family came here with Roman invaders,” no Moorish ancestors, just black people in Camelot without a historical context for why they might be there. They didn’t need a reason to live or be, they just were. My story will completely disregard this badly written one minute scene.

On Religion:

For a show in “a land of myth and a time of magic” the show does a good job at throwing all kinds of cultural and religious aspects into a blender and decking it up with an Arthurian flavour. This is not so much a point of criticism, as I rather like this lack of historical regard and accuracy as it allows for creative freedom, as well as representing a world with greater possibilities.

The one thing that has been on my mind however, when it comes to world-building for my own Merlin fanfic is the presence of, or rather complete lack of, the ‘new religion’. Throughout the show the ‘Old Religion’ is mentioned as something previously widely practised and regarded yet after the Great Purge, which is only 20 years away from the pilot of the show, shows all practises outlawed and suppressed.

Question is, what was it replaced by? I’d like to argue that instead of having a ‘new’ religion to counter the old, the Old Religion was the only practised one and has been replaced by a secular, yet sort of spiritual, society.

One thing to explain before I begin is stating how the society might have some religious aspects, it is secular in the sense that organized religion has no position nor is institutionalized in Camelot. So the Old Religion would be organized religion, and current society is secular but spiritualistic with religious influences.

The first reason for why I’m arguing there is no new religion is because of the complete lack of historicity in the show. Many viewers have claimed the new religion in BBC’s Merlin to be Christianity, or rather Celtic Christianity, but I would like to counter those statements.

I’m no historian so take all of this with a grain of salt. While many forms of paganism existed in Britain around the beginning of the Dark Age (I’m not going in on the name Britain too just take it for the sake of argument) Christianity had already emerged way before, and was instituted as Britain’s state religion under Roman rule probably around the 4th century.

However one thing you need to let go off when thinking about BBC’s Merlin is historical context. There is no Roman-ruled Britannica. There is only ‘Albion’ which forms its own historical context devoid of ours, merely influenced by. Therefore it is not ‘logical to assume’ that Christianity would take the Old Religion’s place. And that’s just the start of it.

Building on the cultural hodgepodge that is BBC’s Merlin, I would also like to point out the circumstances of the Old Religion and its replacement in relation to real world counterparts. In the series the Saxons make their appearance in season 5. Put in a historical context, Saxons (and other Germanic tribes!) invaded/migrated in large amounts around the fall of the Roman empire.

Eventually Saxons embedded themselves in society creating that Anglo-Saxon Britain you might’ve heard of. One of its biggest aspects? The Old English language. Going back to BBC’s Merlin, its Saxons do not seem to be either Christian nor Germanic pagans.

Old English has existed long before Saxons set foot in Albion, as the show indicated they had never done that before. Germanic traditions such as Ostara are celebrated before Saxons arrive, too. In all, nothing has historical backing, just influence.

Now let’s talk about Camelot’s ruling structure, and then compare it to real world examples. Camelot is an absolute monarchy, its head one king. This king makes all legislative decisions, and while backed up by advisors is not exceeded in position by anyone, let alone a religious governmental body.

Most administrative duties fall on the keeper of Camelot’s library, who answers directly to the king, and again, no religious body. While Christian influences can be found in language (“Go to hell!” or “Goodbye”) and symbolism (that scene in the Eye of the Phoenix) no concrete or direct indication of the Christian church is made. Aside from that, Christian influences are also found in the Old Religion, such as the Cup of Life (the Holy Grail).

In addition Camelot still uses elements from the Old Religion in a ‘secular’ way, such as festivals. Whenever the Old Religion is mentioned it is made clear that while not being a completely organized religion its priests held power in legislative bodies of Albion (priests at court) and that its laws and practises were practised throughout the land.

In conclusion Camelot is a secular society retaining some religious hangovers and spiritual aspects preceded by a Camelot practising the (Old) Religion in Albion. The denominator “Old” in the Old Religion related less to a new religion replacing it, but an old religion being abolished/disbanded by a secular society. Old relates to its status as having been practised, not that an old now has a new.

AKA this is just one big excuse for me not to have to translate Christianity to my Merlin fanfic and just roll with it. Only question left is on OTHER religions than Christianity. BBC’s Merlin makes my head hurt as usual.

On Avalon:

Lastly my Merlin fic disregards the continuity errors and the way Arthur died. Because I need Arthur to come back rather faster than the ending of the canonical story, I will change certain things. If you want more details you can look at the never-ending list of lore explanations and such I’ve made but for now I’ll do a short version.

All of this destiny stuff was not a ruse like I’ve seen people make commentary of. Kilgarrah did not state Arthur would come back to give Merlin false hope nor did he state Arthur would rise in the distant future. As I’ve deleted the possibility of Arthur rising up in this world, our world, he would return to life in the world of Albion, a land of myth and in a time of magic. The White/Triple Goddess was the one who created his destiny, as Morgana’s, as Mordred’s, and she informed Kilgarrah.

So here it comes, long story: Lake Avalon used to have an island, but this was moved by ancient High Priestesses, and is now the Isle of the Blessed. By doing this they imbalanced magic in the world and upset the White Goddess (she who created all). The White Goddess created a destiny for a sorcerer who would be able to return Avalon to the way it should be, and re-balance magic.

Therefore he would bring back magic to Albion (and Camelot). In order to get people to honour her again she created the destined ‘Once and Future King’ who would unite Albion under her banner. However she also created another destiny for another ruler who would be able to unite Albion under her banner in the case Arthur would fail, namely Morgana.

The White Goddess let destiny play out, and as Arthur had still not brought back magic to Camelot when she wanted him to, she destined him to die (see the Disir episode). What she did not account for was to have both Morgana (who did not really honour her) and Arthur die. Because of this she needed to bring back Arthur, who had the biggest chance of uniting Albion and bringing back magic. However in the state she is in (she can never help directly, only when she is summoned like in ep. 9 s. 5) she cannot do so directly. She needs Merlin (and others) to bring back Avalon to its original state first.

So TL;DR: White Goddess fucked up, caused all the misery, in hopes of fixing her High Priestesses mistakes. She wants to press the reset button but can’t until someone helps her reach it first.

This brings me to the last change, and that is the isle of Avalon. As you can read in my rewriting and added information to the show’s canon, the Isle of Avalon was never there when Merlin reached the lake in the first place.

So basically instead of having Merlin take Arthur to lake Avalon and seeing the island in the background, you have Merlin taking Arthur to the misty lake we know from the show. Gaius tells Merlin to take Arthur to the Isle of Avalon where he can be healed by Sidhe magic, but the Isle of Avalon was never there throughout the show in the first place. So instead of having this image of Avalon, with a random island added, like shown ONLY in the last episode:

Merlin takes Arthur to the place we’ve seen throughout the series without being linked to the Tor:

Thank you for even reading this shit.

#feel free to ignore lmao #shitpost #castriestalking #merlin

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