#do you think SWEDISH KIDS understand english?!

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

It baffles me that the only ones who got the Creepschool intro where they sing in english was in Sweden

In all other countries they instead got this instrumental version

Like this show existed in english (it was co-produced between Sweden, France and Canada), and yet the english speaking audience DIDN'T get the version where they literally SING in english?

[yourlocalbadgerscales]

Time to teach you Potterheads something you didn’t know about Harry Potter!

Welcome to my Harry Potter class. To begin with, I kinda have two native languages because my dad spoke English when talking to me and my mom communicates to me in Swedish. Where I live everyone talks Swedish, so yeah.

I have the whole Harry Potter book series in Swedish (the Swedish version of the first Harry Potter film is so bad I tell you), and here I am now, sitting with my copy of “Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets” in my lap (”Harry Potter och Hemligheternas kammare” in Swedish btw ☺️). I’m currently reading the scene where Tom Riddle is transfiguring those magic letters in the air that spell out his name, and then he switches them and it says “I am Lord Voldemort”. You know what scene I mean I hope.

When I tell you that this scene is so fucking funny in the Swedish version. Swedish for “I am Lord Voldemort” is “Jag är Lord Voldemort”. Therefore, the person who translated this copy had to make that match with his first name, Tom Riddle, somehow. This is where it gets funny. Apparently, they didn’t manage to figure out a way. So this is how they solved it.

His name isn’t Tom Marvolo Riddle in Swedish. It’s fucking Tom GUS Mervolo Dolder.

GUS 😭🤚

“Dold” is one Swedish word for “hidden”, so loosely translated his last name that should be Riddle means “Hidden-er” 💀 At least it’s better than “Gåta”, the Swedish word for Riddle. But wait, there’s more!

That’s only the first set of letters. Then he switches the places of the letters to prove Harry his point. And Harry’s eyes widen in horror… and utter confusion.

EGO SUM LORD VOLDEMORT.

This isn’t Swedish for your information. It’s fucking Latin. Voldemort is there thinking that this 12 year old boy knows Latin.

Because this mf goes: “Do you understand? “Ego sum” in Latin means “I am”, as you very well know.”.

As you very well know. This bitch has the AUDACITY to open a fucking Latin class in the Chamber of Secrets and start educating Harry Potter just before attempting to kill him.

It’s not news that he cares about the kids’ education though, considering that he always attacks Hogwarts at the end of the year. But this takes the cake dude.

Props to Lena Fries-Gedin for the Swedish translation.

[realredbanana]

Totally random thought. I’d love to read/write a Sara-centric fic/character study focused around identity and lack there of, especially in regard to autism. (Mild warning, I may be accidentally projecting a bit here as she is a character I personally deeply relate to).

Like, I’d love to explore/see someone explore her feelings around herself and who she is, because for a lot of (if not the entirety of) the series, she’s masking. Constantly. (Oo, would also love to explore the consequences of that) and constantly masking to that extent, on top of being absolutely exhausting, can realistically lead to a lack of any real identity. For example, personally, I have no real idea of where the mask ends and I begin, is the mask part of me? If it isn’t, why can’t I just switch it off? If it is why doesn’t it feel like me? So, I’d love to actually think deeper about that in regard to Sara.

Additionally, she’s mixed race. And since Micke’s out of the picture, it’s not unreasonable to assume that her, Simon and Linda see (or at least speak to) Linda’s side of the family more than Micke’s, which could potentially make Sara feel at least a little bit awkward given that she’s white-passing and has much less desire to speak Spanish (potentially because of bullying? Or general fear of being further ostracised?). That could easily lead to a feeling of not being Swedish enough to easily fit in with the white Swedish kids, yet not Venezuelan enough to easily fit in with the rest of her family. (This is the bit where I’m most concerned about slightly projecting because, while I am white, I was born in England (with mostly English family) yet I’ve spent most of my life in Wales, leading to a general feeling of being ‘not Welsh enough to be Welsh in Wales, but not English enough to be English in England’).

Plus, she was considered an outsider amongst the girls (and boys, really) who were experiencing crushes for the first time at, what, 12? 13?? 14??? Whereas she first experienced romantic/sexual attraction at 17, almost 18, much later than everyone else. And, as much as this sucks, I know that a fairly large part of the Teen Experience™️ is crushes. Talking about crushes. Teasing your friends about their crushes. Trying to talk to your crushes. Etc. So, to be quite late to experience your first crush (if you ever do) is quite isolating. You very quickly realise “ah. I see. I’m not normal.” — and to have any part of your identity built on top of this feeling of “I’m not normal” is kind of really horrific. Also, when she does experience that attraction, it happens to be towards someone who is, one, her first ever friend’s ex and, two, the guy who leaked CP of her brother, which really complicates everything. So, she’s suddenly forced to juggle her crush (something that may, on some level, make her feel “more normal”) alongside the fact that being with August means betraying Felice and Simon (and, when it came to Felice, well, Felice already expressed that she wasn’t ever really in love with August, and with Simon she felt like he’d betrayed her first (by speaking to Micke)).

On top of all of these things, Sara also seemed to be losing interest in horses, to some extent, in s3. And losing/feeling on the brink of losing a special interest is something I’d never wish on anybody. Especially because a special interest can be/is a very core part of most autistic people’s identities (like, my interest in Young Royals is a core part of me, in fact, I find it easiest to understand the world around me through Young Royals) and losing that can be deeply painful, like, you’re actually grieving the loss of a major part of yourself. Imagine feeling your most intense interest, the thing that you feel makes you you, the thing that helped you whenever you felt really tired or sad or stressed, slipping away through your fingers. Nothing you can do to prevent it from fading, and the more you try to cling to it the quicker it fades. It’s a deeply distressing experience.

Just. In general, I feel like identity for Sara must almost be this complicated seeming mess of feeling like you don’t really belong anywhere. Which just feels horrifically tragic to me.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

Hi! I saw you speaking swedish, and hopefully you didn’t answer this before (if yes, feel free to ignore), but how many languages do you speak? (any fluency level, doesn’t need to be 100% fluent).

I’m always very interested in languages and I was curious, have a good day :)

i probably have answered it before, but it's been a while.

well, i'm danish, so obviously i speak that fluently, and then I went to an international school as a kid where half the subjects were in english and were taught by mostly people from england, but there was a stray american in there, my math teacher sean, so I'm also fluent in that, that's why I write in english because I grew up most days speaking that more than danish, so much so that I lost my original accent very young and now I sound more like the various teachers I've had (aka british, kinda posh I guess)

and then, since i'm danish, i also understand the other scandinavian languages, although I'm not confident speaking either swedish or norwegian, I wanna at some point get better at them, hopefully even fluent, but so far throughout my life, I've been best at just reading it and listening to it.

and then i had german in school for a bit, although it's pretty rusty since that was like 13 years ago, but the basics are still in there, seared into my brain.

and then i know a tiny bit of french (took a little course many many years ago), and then I also know a bunch of food termanoligy/words/phrases in various other laungues because I am a food nerd...

i think that's it? honestly don't remember rn. maybe something fell through the cracks, but I think that might be it.

so, 2 that i'm completely fluent in, 3 more that I can get by in, 1 that I am an amateur in, and then a bunch of others that's just proof of the kitchen gremlin that I am

[operafantomet]

Hi Anea! Out of curiosity, how many languages you know? Are most Scandinavians multilingual?

"Know" is a bit... fluent. I tend to separate between how many languages I could read a book in VS how many languages I could order food in... Hah.

I think most Scandinavians learn the neighbor languages during their childhood or teenage years. I learned Danish as a very young child. My dialect is close to Danish and we frequently visited Denmark - it was a three-hour ferry trip away. And Swedish because of all the Swedish children's programs, Emil, Pippi, whatnot.

The three languages Danish, Swedish and Norwegian are quite similar, with some differences in words and pronunciation but not so much you would not get understood when talking your own language. I master all three as such, but prefer to speak my own language when talking to adults. For children I might change completely, depending on their level. But when I have visited Denmark with Swedish friend Josefine, we have all spoken our respective languages without much issues.

There's also hybrids for easing the communication - the most made-fun-of version is "svorsk" (svensk/norsk, AKA Swedish/Norwegian). It's sometimes done on TV and it's rather amusing. I think the best illustration is this candy, as that middle letter is a hybrid between Norwegian/Danish Ø and Swedish Ö. It doesn't make sense in any language, yet A+ for trying.

So yeah, I speak and read Norwegian, Danish and Swedish, albeit I only actually speak the two latter when forced as I feel I'm a character in a TV series when speaking it. I guess the best comparison in English would be to fake a Scottish accent. It's do-able, but doesn't feel natural.

Then there is of course English. Most Scandinavian kids learn it both in school and from the internet. Most are also encouraged to do a second foreign language later on. For me it was French, but I'm somewhere between "can ask simple questions and hope for a simple answer" and ordering food. This is also my approach to German. There is so much similarities to Norwegian I understand a lot of what I read and hear, but I can't form my own sentences.

With a base in English, Germannic languages and a Latin language I can fake my way through many European countries and at least order food, understand basic newspaper headlines and manage my way through non-English websites (for example looking for tickets or info).

As an adult I also tried to learn Greek. The grammar absolutely killed me, but I can read it fine enough (in the pace of a child). I just don't understand a lot of what I read. Hah! I can also - again - order food, say my name, ask how people are doing, understand ticket systems etc.

So yeah... I would say I master four languages - Norwegian, Danish, Swedish and English. I can fake my way through French, German and Greek to some extent, and that also translate into related languages (for example Italian, Dutch). But I could never read a book in those languages, or hold a meaningfull conversation past "Hello, my name is (...), how are you doing?".

[tweehearts]

annika norlins english project, hello saferide, is more well known outside of sweden than her main band säkert! which is a true bummer because everything that hello saferide does, säkert! does better. even if you don't understand what she is saying, the music by itself and her golden vocal melodies make it worth checking out. i would recommend google translating her lyrics though, norlin is one of the best songwriters in swedish pop (or music in general) and a true indie cult classic.

this is THE hit! everytime this song plays on the indie clubs, the floor is filled immediately. one of swedens only twee pop hits!

"we will die at the same time"

i could write more about the AMAZING swedish indie pop scene and its subculture, the pop kids (poppare) but that can wait for another day (im thinking of doing a zine about it actually, more about that later!)

[lovelyladylavie]

Background character sketches for "My Brother’s Child", a fic I've been writing for about a year. It is E-rated for s*x and graphic vio lence, but it's also full of Rise-style fluff, family moments, and humor. But I'm adding a T-rated version soon, and when I do, I'll drop the link.

The fic is generally about the different stages of love and loss the adult turtles go through during the apocalyptic future in the Rise Movie, and how things change over the course of the years until Time Travel Day. The fic is canon compliant, so all the losses suffered in the movie are, in fact, in the fic, or will be soon.

So i needed some background characters that can create situations for the turtles to navigate. Expendables, if you will.

This is the Mad Dogs Hockey Team (and a few others). They're Raph and Cass' scavenger squad full of ultra-strong weirdos. All their weapons and armor were made by Donnie during a fit of unbridled inspiration.

But anyway, in case you can't read my chicken scratch (from left to right) under the cut:

Denzlo:

-Stinky Boy

-Doesn't shower much to conserve water

-Fiercely Loyal to Raph and Cass

-Incredibly kind, but has a short fuse

Evans:

-Out of the Box Thinker

-Tall and Buff (gotta stay fit in the apocalypse)

-Smartass

-loves his wife, Spice

(Not on here, but recent lore drop in the fic, Evans was training to be a radiologist, so he's the group's de facto medic. He also loves stealing dried herbs/spices during scavenges to spice up he and his wife's rations)

Spice:

-Soft spoken and stealthy

-uses Donnie-Tech camo cloak

-high kraang kill-count

-loves her husband (they dance together at bad times)

-was a law student

Pietro:

-Angry at everything, was scared of mutants (still kinda is.)

-has two kids (Trish and Tai)

-unpleasant person in general

Quinn:

-Short Queen, sweetheart

-Used to be a mortician

-Goth, from Jersey

-Took care of Raphael’s body

Maya:

-A bit self-centered, brutal, sadistic

-likes cute things

-likes Mikey

-uh oh

The honorable Rabbi Venkman (Not a member of the Hockey Team, but one of Mikey’s 'Light-Steppers', the mystic warrior squad he teaches):

-handles all religious crises in the rebellion base

-Thinks the world of Mikey, learned mystic arts from him

-very tall and soft spoken

-very moral and fair, if a lil sassy

Delia Vardanyan (civilian):

-In charge of the war's orphans, takes care of all children on base when their parents are busy, in charge of their general education.

-HATES Donnie (likes his brothers, though?)

- Armenian immigrant. survivor of the original kraang attack. Very loud/outspoken. They found her eating MREs in a turned over battleship in the harbor.

-Trusts. NO. One. (Sleeps a lot)

Yuri:

-Was a tourist/exchange student in NYU from Sweden

-Struggles with English and has a very heavy accent

-Maya is his bestie by default bc she speaks fluent Swedish and was the only one who could understand him when the world flipped upside down. His English has gotten better over the years, but he still needs her.

-Speedy in battles. Will share his rations. Bit of an appreciator of the finer things in life, like wine.

-Maya and Yuri have both slept with Mikey. Mikey is quite a Casanova in the resistance due to his mystic mystique. (That... might change once he starts aging more rapidly, however...)

There's another page of characters, but it contains spoilers, so im gonna have to correct that before i show it.

[transparencyboo]

Brave Fencer Musashi (1998) was never released here in Europe, but somehow a pirated copy found its way to me as a kid. My dad had at some point gotten my PS1 modded with some kind of multi-X chip and sometimes brought home curiosities burnt onto discs. We didn't have a lot of them, but I remember some very fondly because of how elusive these copies felt without a box or even official cover art to speak of. Only the distinct allure of titles in black sharpie graced the discs, making them feel strangely mystical in a way. One of these games was Brave Fencer Musashi.

I was the only kid that knew about this game. Of course I didn't know that it was never released here at the time, but it sure felt like a special game that only I was privy to. I suppose this was partly why I went back to it over and over again, despite not knowing much English at all. I did not even understand how to save. I basically replayed the opening several times and just basked in everything that snippet of the game had to give me. It was fantastic, amazing even. It had such an impact on me that to this day I still remember the opening cutscenes and set pieces more vividly than most other games I played at the time. I hum the music of the first level sometimes. Lines of dialogue burned into my mind, even though my Swedish kid brain didn't grasp most of it.

Over 20 years later, I finally finished it.

It's interesting to go back to a game that was made almost mythical in my mind as a kid, one that has stuck with me even though I never really played through it. There was a risk that experiencing it for real would somehow taint that perfect imagination of it, but I think it was worth it in the end. Brave Fencer Musashi might not be as fantastical to me as a grown adult with understanding of English and a vast knowledge of video games, but I still appreciate it for what it ended up being. It's a simple platforming action game with light RPG mechanics, stunning graphics and some silly humour sprinkled in. It's certainly not ground breaking by any means, but I'd say it still sticks out as a solid little gem on the platform despite that. I was most definitely entertained throughout my 16 hours of playing, enough so that I collected all the splangos as well as all the bobbins – and that's more than I can say for most games. I even maxed out my stats, and it didn't even take that long. That's the mark of a pretty good game right there.

I really like the environments, the simple platforming combat, the toys of all the characters that you can collect and the goofs and gags that the rather conventional story presented to me. I liked that all the characters are named after food and drinks, and I think it's brilliant that one of them is inexplicably just called Jon and has a dog named Leno. It has tons of secrets to find and collect and pretty much everything feels rewarding and fun to do. It's good is what I am saying.

I will say though that the shogi puzzle could've used another pass through the localization (if you know you know), and the fact that they put a memorization rhythm game right at the very end almost made me quit playing. The only reason I got through that segment was because Kiki helped me with her extremely powerful short term memory. I am good at 3D platforming and actions shenanigans, but memorizing long strings of patterns that are also sensitive to rhythm just makes my brain shut off. I am glad that that character got danced to death by the end of that segment, because she certainly deserved it – Mickey Mouse looking shit.

Anyway, Brave Fencer Musashi is a pretty good platforming action game that reminds me quite a bit about Monster World IV, which might coincidently be the best game ever made, so that's a big A+ in my book. My childhood memories have finally been redeemed and can now rest in peace.

Next up from the pirated Playstation collection that stuck in the depths of my kid brain - Team Losi RC Racer

[kafkaoftherubble]

!!! Oh but will it take away the experience of learning them?! Or will it work by granting me some really basic innate grasp like kids do in their critical period, and then I can master those languages well?!

Oh wait. It says “instantly”. Okay... never mind that was never the point...

The languages I wanna be fluent in are...

Sign language! Preferably the dialect (?) the most number of signing people will understand! I don't actually have any grand reason for it... Oh, wait! I do! This way I can talk and listen to even more people!

Sanskrit! This is partly something I wanna learn for the benefit of the other guy. This is for reading Buddhist philosophy, but it's technically most useful only for Indian Mahayana streams like the Madhyamaka school and the Yogacara school. So I should put a... 2.5. the Pali language! Now this is for the earliest stuff! This way I can read the Buddha doing his repetition schtick, where he repeated the same goddamn sentences with only one or two words changed for like 3 or 5 or 7 times... in his own language! Authentic nagging!

Latin! It's even adjacent to Sanskrit! This is because I do so love the English language. I know it's gotta be the most basic thing to say, liking English and all, but I used to read the dictionary when I was a kid and I just couldn't help but wonder about the etymology of each word. Also, maybe if I'm fluent in Latin, I will be at a good place to learn modern Latin languages!

German! It's something younger versions of me had wanted! As their current heir, I can technically fulfill their goals if I want to. Plus I'd be in a good place to understand/learn Dutch and Swedish and Danish and stuff! I'll be able to pick up that Swedish lithe they have! (Okay, I mean, I can also try to pick up that lithe from Irish or Gaelic...)

Thai! Because I want to be able to visit Ayutthaya by myself every now and then and just watch the sunset at Ayutthaya Historical Park and the elephants traveling at a distance. Some of the best days in our life were made in Thailand, especially Ayutthaya. There, we are not a ghost.

However, if I'm being honest... I don't think I'll mind not knowing how to instantly speak one or two of these languages if this power allows me to preserve a dying language or two before it gets properly store permanently, like maybe by an AI language model. I just hope I'll have someone to speak it to with this unique language, though.

Oh man. I should probably put "insect language" as one of the 5! I dislike insects and bugs, so I wanna learn how to say "Fuck off my property" and "Could you very sweetly fuck off from my property?" and "Halt, good sir, the window is that way. Best be on your way!" in their language so we can establish mutual trust.

If you could instantly be granted fluency in 5 languages—not taking away your existing language proficiency in any way, solely a gain—what 5 would you choose?

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

**This is related to the post about dcla gatekeeping telenovelas** In my eyes this whole debacle is mostly about popularity and demand/availability. Even before Violetta/Soy Luna there were a shit ton of teen (non disney tho) telenovelas that were extremely popular on their lands but didn't really pick up outside except a few places + europe, which is a shame for so many reasons, especially because i've seen a fair share of stuff that i think you and a lot of other people of this community would enjoy if they liked violetta/soy luna/bia/go vive tu manera etc but it's not available if you don't understand even slightly one of the neo-latin languages or languages that are kind of indirectly affiliated (mostly because those dubs/subs are the ones that are easier to find). I was also tempted to try and start subbing them in English but it would take an insane amount of time (still thinking about it tho..)

And then Violetta was like an insane phenomenon at the time and I understand why they tried HARD to push it on the american audience even tho they never really cared that much (which is insane to me because Violetta was such a core memory from my childhood) and maybe with Soy Luna they saw how popular it was in general and compared it with how uninterested the english speaking countries were at the times of Violetta and just... gave up with the whole translating thing because it wasn't worth it since it was already doing insanely good?? i guess (but that's just a theory/an opinion)

p.s. (The only disney gatekeeping I can fully conferm tho [in my opinion] is Juacas because I swear to god I cannot find it to save my fucking life in either it's original language or dubbed in my native language (it was released and was also really popular apparently, but at the time i was kind of away from telenovelas) so yeah I still think that sometimes they truly do shit without thinking and just generally suck at preserving international stuff. (i'm shit at explaining myself sorry lol)

No you’re good! D+ also randomly gatekeeps their d+ la shows from the international audience (like S2 of Papás por encargo?? Why not release it everywhere???? We wanna watch it too!). Also I wish they released stuff like Patito Feo… I’ve heard of that show’s existence since I first saw Violetta and it was only released in a handful of countries. Also, Violetta was really marketed EVERYWHERE, and then SL came along and in my country, they dubbed the two first seasons and then never the third and I barely remember it airing on tv, while Violetta was marketed so much you could not miss it. They never aired Bia here at all, and it’s not out on D+ in my country (but when watching it with a vpn they had swedish subtitles available so??? why gatekeep it from us). ALSO, so many countries have their own version of ”as the bell rings” and not a SINGLE VERSION is available on D+, not even the italian version which is the original??

I also have some shows from my country (non-disney) that was popular here, but I wish was known everywhere because they are awesome.

The english dub of Violetta was not popular in the UK. It was popular everywhere else, for people who did not speak spanish but still loved the show, and thus when wanting to show clips from the show they used those clips. Now, I personally don’t like the english dub and they randomly don’t translate stuff correctly at times, but for many kids who did not understand spanish but did understand english, it was useful. Now, most countries had their own dubs too, but when posting about clips online for everyone to see, you rarely used your own language’s dub. You used the english dub, so that you could reach out to a larger audience.

I remember a few years back, I said that I felt like Soy Luna barely was marketed and people were like ”No it has higher ratings than Violetta!!” - and it turned out I simply missed it because as I said, in my country they barely marketed it in comparison to Violetta and since it did not even get an english dub, kids who did not know spanish could not talk ”internationally” about it in the same way, and mostly had to talk about it locally with the people from their own country.

I definitely agree that Violetta was such a phenomenon that they really tried pushing it on americans. ”Come on!! All of latin america and Europe are obsessed!!!! You need to join in on the fun!!” and they were like ”uh no thanks we don’t like dubs and the kids will be bored if it’s subbed”, and that eventually lead to them not even caring to dub SL. The only thing that is sad about that is that we could have gotten british Ámbar.

[siriouslytired]

Someone asked me why I write in English instead of Swedish and I just had so many thoughts that I had to write it all down. Feel free to ignore this, my brain just would not stop once it had started.

I started learning English when I was 7. I’m old enough that this wasn’t done in the same unconscious way as kids the same age do now; the way my youngest relatives speak a frankly delightfully cute version of Swenglish despite not having turned 4 yet.

I remember forcing myself through awkward pronunciations, sounding everything out in my head to remember which letters do what and how Wednesday can lose some in a way that onsdag never does. How knocking is so much softer than knackande. I remember being so proud when I could finally turn off the subtitles on the movies my mum had bought me when she realized that I was genuinely interested in languages and not just happy to spend time learning a subject where I didn’t have to spend as much energy on the homework as I did with e.g., math. Swedish is something I know; English is something I learnt. It’s something I did for myself, in a way Swedish will never be – even though it’s a language I love the sound of, a language I absolutely adore when someone wants to learn.

Writing in your first language is just so much more intimate than using your second or even third language. With each step away from the first one the emotions become more and more removed from you as a person. At least for me.

Your first language is how you first learn to understand what you’re feeling; how to put a name to your reactions even if you’re someone who never talks about it. Using a language that you’ve actively had to learn is something completely different. The method that is used to assemble all the pieces to find a description that suits what you’re trying to convey is entirely different; there is a thoughtfulness, or rather a thoughtlessness, behind it that, at least for me, is not present in the scarce moments I try to use Swedish for the same purpose only to stress myself out because it’s just not right or entirely too personal; like standing naked in a room full of people in formal dress; lost at sea without land in sight, a wave cresting above your head, limbs weak from keeping your head above the surface.  

You could just leave it at the serviceable level if you want to. I’m stressed because of work; I’m angry because of x; I’m hungry; I’m sad; I’m tired; My stomach hurts; simple, to the point, understandable. The expressions used are amusing because you’ve had to decipher them through single words learnt without all its meanings attached; I spent years trying to wrap my head around all the ways that French uses faire, so many that I eventually just had to shrug when it turned up in a place I never thought it could if only to not get stuck on a single word when I had thousands left to cover.

To actively learn to use a different language to not only describe what you’re thinking and feeling but also to illustrate it in a way that doesn’t use the words themselves is a choice that my first language doesn’t allow me. It’s not that it was forced on me, but more that it crept up on me until I had no choice but to know, to get swept up in minute details I’d rather be blissfully unaware of. Especially when the details are my own.

An example of this, for me especially, is anger; regret; melancholy.

Anger is never going to be as evocative as ilska; être en colère is never going to give me the same reaction as förbannad; as vansinnig; All things that I resent having to feel, like my choice has been taken from me. All things that I never want to use Swedish to describe if only to avoid it being brought back to life just from its description.

Disappointment is not as heavy as besvikelse; regret can never convey the same sinking feeling as ånger; sorrow, chagrin, can never give me what sorg does; förtvivlan, bedrövelse make my stomach turn; désespoir, grief, can never measure up. Not even when the details attached make my eyes sting, shoulders curving inwards, a hurt not quite my own taking root.  

I love you flows from my lips like water, like an afterthought of a breath; je t’aime is something from movies; je t’adore something only found in commercials, removed from the personal altogether. Caricatures of people trying to sell something that I have no need of.

Jag älskar dig catches on my teeth, makes me choke, sends me running from the room out of embarrassment not yet felt; skam burning through my veins, sending me scrambling for a pillow to hide my face in; a skämskudde for everything I can’t bring myself to say. A word that will always be so much more descriptive to me than an entire essay on the subject could ever hope to be. Shame not even close to giving me the same visceral reaction, the same panic and rush of blood to my face.

I write because I like doing it, because words are endlessly fascinating to me in what they can do. I also write to remove my thoughts and feelings from myself, to express them in a way that doesn’t make me want to escape, to press them down until I’ve convinced myself that they’re gone. I’ve had to learn, actively learn, how to express myself; it wasn’t something that I was ever really taught growing up, at least not the important parts. Apologizing, saying please and thank you, speaking clearly; all of that was part of my upbringing. Telling people how I feel, how their actions made me react, how my actions came to be beyond I was wrong; that is not something I’ve ever really been comfortable with.

I use English to express all this because I’d get maybe one sentence of Swedish out of me and then stop. Not for lack of words, but for an abundance of them that I could never make sense of in a way that would make me comfortable enough to share them. The few times I’ve attempted to use French for the same purpose it feels so detached from myself it becomes void of feeling; the only thing remaining my desperate attempts to ascertain which tense is more appropriate to describe what I used to do and what I used to feel that has brought me here.

English is a tool at my disposal; Swedish is something that clings to me with soft hooks only to occasionally take the shape of something I’d be comfortable parting with. And even then it would leave me just a little chipped around the edges from its absence.

[leam1983]

Narcolepsy's always been a problem in the family. Humans get it too, occasionally, from what I understand. In my case, it means you sit down at the bottom of the ocean to have a think and the next thing you know a hundred million years have passed. Not only that, but a weird bit of convergent evolution makes the land-monkeys receptive to your own species' telepathy, and you wake up realizing that you've, oh, driven a few hundred thousand people insane across History. They've seen your back yard, but you've dreamt of their cities, too. Their lives, their civilizations, their bad habits...

The poor cultists; they think I got up from the Atlantic's seabed for them, when what really got me out of my funk was how irrational their economists were. Their scholars accuse me of spreading madness, but what about the factory bosses and landlords that actually break these minds I'd happen to unfortunately innoculate?

Of course, there's a flipside, too. When I'm awake, I can slip all sorts of thoughts in other people's heads. Tacky Pulp Fiction authors would say I'd make a homely woman behave as though she were possessed by the soul of her ancestor, but all I really did was show poor Asenath that she didn't really need to make do with self-absorbed scholars, nevermind so-called propriety! She's a grown woman; she doesn't need some hoity-toity scholars from Miskatonic to sign off on her research!

Excuse me, I, er, got slightly sidetracked, here... My ability also makes everything else easier, too. As I am how others perceive me to be, all I needed was to imagine myself as person-sized, easily clothed and not too squamous, with tentacles that could curve into a smile, three-fingered and clawed hands you'd still want to handshake, and a silly pair of vestigial wings that serve more as emotional markers, now. I climbed up Providence's beachfront with a singlet and a straw hat on, kicked an old rubber ball back at a few kids and spent a few minutes convincing the locals that seeing a dumpy man in a dripping singlet saunter over to the closest haberdashery really was nothing special. Green skin? What green skin? There's nothing there, isn't there? By the time I had clothes on, nobody cared about my wings anymore.

I knew the risks, of course. By day, I'd pick up the local cannery, hire workers and keep them fed and lodged, but as soon as I'd lay down to rest my subconscious would wage war against the sleeping minds that surrounded me. The only way I could muffle out my call was by keeping a consistent sleep schedule, but a fair and flexible factory boss doesn't get the benefit of consistency.

I napped a few times. I fell asleep at my desk a few times. Only one worker died - poor old Johanssen - but he already wasn't quite right, back when I hired him. What was I supposed to do, leave a drunk ship's captain without a ship who couldn't speak more than three words of English before defaulting to Swedish ramblings alone on the docks?! Alone, with no place to stay?!

I may be Eldritch, but I'm no monster!

I try and console myself with the study grants I've financed, the houses I've bought, the marriages I've covered, the baby showers I attended - or the fact that our count of workplace injuries is far, far lower than what you'd find out of an outfit helmed by just any other profit-motivated human, but it's hard not to feel responsible when they call you by your assumed human first name and wonder why you don't have a wife or a family of your own.

I would, believe me; but my call is the one injustice I can't fix. Besides, I can consider my workers' union to be a family of sorts, right? We certainly have enough professional dinner dates together and enough arguments on how the factory needs to be run. All civil, of course - not that it stops outsiders from asking questions.

They say Christopher Thülen is an occultist, a cult leader. They say he comes to people in their dreams. Nope, that's just Chtulhu - what I'm stuck being. Like you never chose to have eyes that couldn't see into the infrared spectrum, for instance. Did you know mantis shrimp actually have jokes about human eyesight? I'd translate a few, but I'm afraid the punches wouldn't land. Get it - mantis shrimps, punches?

Oy. Tough crowd, huh?

No, what I'd like to know, Nodens, is why you, the purported protector of all Reality in the face of my myriad perversions, come to me in the guise of a Federal investigator - after planting scabs in the factory I helped unionize over in Brattleboro...

“When the Old Gods returned, they were surprised how easy it was to amass an army of followers. Turned out all they had to do was offer fair wages and good benefits, with reasonable deadlines and working conditions”

[suaine]

6x15 coda | Eddie goes to El Paso and talks to his mom | 1.5k

read on AO3

Even though he thinks of LA as home these days, El Paso is where he grew up, where he met Shannon, where Chris was born. El Paso has his heart in ways that LA could never understand and never replicate. Eddie sits on his parents’ porch late at night and listens to the noise of late spring in Texas. They are far enough outside the city for nature to replace the sounds of humans and it’s a symphony he knows well, white noise that is working away at the noise in his head.

Eddie knows it won’t drown it out altogether, but maybe if he just sits here for a while, he’ll be able to sleep.

It’s entirely dark when he hears the screen door open and close, a distinct sound that reminds him of a childhood running after his sisters as they start a new game and draw him in. Eddie smiles to himself but it feels heavy somehow, like he’s saying goodbye to something.

His mother sits next to him without a word but she hands him a steaming mug of coffee, the way he used to drink it, a little more bitter and less frivolous than he has come to enjoy it. There’s a softness to him now he has never allowed himself to feel when he was younger.

“Thanks,” Eddie says, eyes still on the horizon. The desert stares back at him with a vastness that would be terrifying if he was here alone. But he’s not alone and that’s something he’s slowly letting himself believe.

His mother hums and takes a sip from her own mug. “You looked like you needed it.”

Eddie has never doubted his mother’s love for him, not the way Buck always struggled with his own parents, but she has a way about her that makes it hard to be truly open. They have that in common, walls so high that no one can climb over them, only knock them down.

“Pepa talked to you,” he says, suddenly certain that this is why she’s been pushing for them to come visit.

His mother sighs. “She means well. Ramon and Pepa and your abuela, they all love you so much. They only want the best for you, all in their own way.” She rests her hand on his knee. “But they don’t know you like I do.”

Eddie shakes his head, but not because she is wrong. There is a connection between them, something so primal it’s hard to put into words. They’re too similar to get along, sometimes, too broken in the same ways to really communicate. “I’ve been thinking about Shannon a lot,” he says and his mother tenses.

“Ah.” It’s a sound that stands alone, that encompasses so much hurt and misunderstanding and guilt.

“I know you never liked her,” he says, weary and unwilling to fight over choices he made long ago.

But his mother huffs. “I liked her fine,” she says, “I just didn’t like her for you.”

A brittle, nasty laugh breaks out of Eddie’s chest. “Yeah, that’s just the same thing dressed up for church.”

“Eddie,” she says. She sounds weary, too. “You are my son.” Her voice suddenly sounds foreign, harder, like she’s speaking from a place far north, half a world away. “You are my son and that’s something I’ve tried to shield you from more than you know.”

Eddie thinks about all of the times in his childhood when his mother insisted to cook his abuela’s recipes, to celebrate their holidays the Mexican way, to hide herself in his father’s culture. How he calls her abuela when he speaks to Christopher and never thought to learn Swedish, a language that was never spoken in this house.

“When I met your father, he was warm and full of life, and I knew that I would follow him anywhere. But I was glad it was here.” She looks out at the desert. “It is easy to say I love you in English.”

Growing up, he and his sisters sometimes laughed about his mother’s accent when she spoke Spanish, but it’s only now that he’s letting himself think about the fact she learned two languages for them and never spoke her own.

“Shannon was a good girl, but you and her were two kids clinging to each other because the world was a scary place and you recognized a kindred spirit. I know, because I saw a lot of myself in her. And there is too much of me in you.”

Eddie is silent. There is nothing he can say.

“She died before either of you could find out that you were walking the same path in different directions.”

Eddie swallows hard, a sudden lump constricting his throat. “Before, uh, before she died. Shannon, she wanted a divorce.”

He’s never told his mother this because he was afraid of the vindication she would feel. Knowing that she was always right and showing it, making him feel young and foolish. But she doesn’t do that now, only sighs and leans closer, wrapping her arms around him. “Oh, Eddie, my poor boy.”

And he doesn’t know why this is what sets him off, that lets the tears finally run freely. But he is burning with it, tears running hot and wet down his face, his every breath a sob that shakes him to the core. “She- she said she needed to learn to be a mother first. That she couldn’t be both.”

His mother is running soft hands down his back and through his hair, humming something that could be a lullaby, but one he’s never heard before. Eddie lets himself be held and allows his tears to fall freely.

It takes hours, years, minutes, a moment. But the weight on his chest is lighter and the noise in his head is quieter. It feels like the desert just after a thunderstorm.

His mother lets him go as he pushes away slowly, but her eyes are on his, searching for something. She nods when she finds what she’s looking for and puts her hands on his face, rubbing the tear tracks with her thumbs. There is a light in her that Eddie has never let himself see, always eclipsed by the Texas sun.

“When you find the one you want to be with, you will know, because they will burn brighter than the sun. They will make you feel warm and safe and loved like no one else ever has.”

She smiles and Eddie feels the way she carefully avoids gender like a punch to the chest. How could she know when he hasn’t let himself even think about that part of himself? Has it always been there? And worse than that, when her words fall on him, each one stings with the knowledge that he has found his person long ago, has found exactly this feeling and is maybe too scared to ever do something about it.

“What if- what if they don’t want me back?” It’s the fear that keeps him locked up tight, running everywhere but where he wants to be.

His mother smiles. “Eddito,” she says, her accent so familiar it wraps around him like a blanket, “anyone would be lucky to have you. When he sees you, he will love you.”

He already does, Eddie knows that, just maybe not the way Eddie wants. And oh.

Oh, his mother knows this, too. Eddie doesn’t talk about Buck to his parents, tries to keep what they have, this weird, fragile little family that is always, always on a deadline, to himself as much as possible. But of course, his mother talks to her grandson and Chris has no such problems gushing about the man that’s taking up so much space in their lives.

What Eddie doesn’t say is as loud as the things he does and his mother has been hearing him his whole life. But she is like him, and he is like her, unable to put words to the emotions that are so heavy and vast in his chest. It’s not that they don’t feel, the two of them, it’s that they feel in ways that are hard to translate.

“Mom, I-” He stops, frustrated with himself and his silence.

She puts a finger to her lips and taps twice, shaking her head. “You don’t have to explain. You don’t have to say anything before you’re ready. But I think you will be ready soon and we will be here when you are.”

A new silence falls between them. It feels lighter, more complicit, like they are sharing a secret in the dark. Eddie drinks the last of his coffee, long since cooled to the ambient temperature. It tastes bitter.

“Mom, I have to tell you something. I actually like my coffee with oat milk and sugar these days,” he says, because he can’t say everything else.

She pats his back and nods. “Then we’ll make another pot.”

Eddie smiles at her. “That sounds like a great idea.”

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 1, Episode 2

Episode 2 picks up the morning day after the initiation party, the girls are having breakfast lunch at their dorm, the boys at theirs, and everyone wants the juicy details about what happened at the party...

Culture: Tell me more, tell me more, did you get very far? Although, it's pretty funny how the roles are reversed, Maddie is all "meh" about it, while Nils tells a different story. Then again, since when do you get together after a blowjob?

Culture: I actually have no idea why Simon is having breakfast at Skogsbacken, since regular schools only cover lunch for students, everyone eats breakfast at home, and then goes to school. Then again, it allows a scene where (Never mind, they're having lunch, thanks @kamand !) Blink and you miss it: Wilhelm casts some nervous glances at Simon after having been called out for disappearing at the party and almost forced to confess to making out with someone.

Culture: I know Felice is trying to put August down, but don't knock a proper Swedish pizza! As much as I like living in the US, they can't fucking make pizzas here, and the first thing I eat every time I go back to Sweden is always a real pizza. With pineapple and shrimp as God intended pizza to be made!

Culture: August is namedropping ski resorts in the Alps, which is where you go skiing in Europe if you have money, although Saint-Martin-de-Belleville is actually near Val Thorens in France, while Verbier is in Switzerland. It does have a three-star restaurant, though. Sweden and Norway have a couple of decent ski resorts, but the Scandinavian mountain chain is simply not as impressive as the Alps.

Subtext: Remember Wilhelm getting up and hurrying to math class in the beginning of the scene? It was so he could grab the other seat next to Simon, because he knows Simon is gonna sit next to Sara, since no-one else does.

Culture: Formally greeting your teacher before class is very uncommon in Sweden, but since Hillerska is all about discipline and tradition, of course they do it. Note that they're again using the formal Swedish title for male teachers, Magister, which in a regular school would be kind of a joke, since teachers and students are on a first-name basis with each other.

Subtext: Wilhelm is exposing how the world works if you have money. At Simon's old school, studying alone would result in good grades, but Hillerska is slightly corrupt and almost expects the students to essentially pay for getting a good grade.

Subtext: Simon is lying to his teacher, he absolutely hasn't talked to his parents about paying for private lessons.

Subtext: No, Sara absolutely does care about what other people think about her, and when she directly tells Felice that she would actually like some friends, that's when Felice gets it and starts making an effort to become real friends with her.

Culture: They're all bilingual at Simon's home, they're all speaking Spanish and Swedish, although Linda has a very noticeable accent to her Swedish. Based on demographics and statistics, the most likely scenario is that Linda immigrated to Sweden from Chile, met Micke, and started a family. In real life, Omar Rudberg was born in Venezuela and grew up in Sweden, while Carmen Gloria Pérez was born in New York, and grew up in Puerto Rico.

Subtext: Remember how I talked in the intro post about how distant social classes know nothing of each other? Ayub and Rosh are either working class or lower middle class like Simon, and since rowing is a typical upper class sport, they know nothing of it, they don't even think of it as a real sport. Unlike football, which is a proper working class sport, they know all about that!

Subtext: Scandinavia has Jantelagen, and everyone there thinks it's uniquely Scandinavian, but all countries have some form of Tall Poppy Syndrome. In this scene, Simon is starting to make a class journey, he started rowing, he started trying to fit in with the other upper-class kids, and getting into a relationship with someone as upper-class as Wilhelm would definitely move him all the way. But going on a journey means leaving things behind, which is why Rosh and Ayub are cutting him down and literally turning their backs on him. They like it in the small town of Bjärstad, why can't he be happy there too? Why is he betraying his roots?

Subtext: This comment from August nicely foreshadows a later episode when August does something traceable on a School computer...

Subtext: What August means is that he's not sure Wilhelm has the same desire to be accultured into the upper class, to play the part of a proper prince, in the same way that he and Erik have accepted their roles and are even enjoying them.

Culture: Although it's impossible to read the name of the medicine, the paper tag on the bottle indicates that it's some kind of prescription medicine. From the conversation with Vincent, we learn that it's some kind of ADHD medication, probably some kind of Dextroamphetamine since those improve athletic ability and cognitive functions in healthy people.

Culture: Birkenstock sandals are associated with hippies in Sweden as well as in many parts of the world, so August is actually saying that the school counselor isn't really part of the same upper-class society as the rest of the staff. And again, his use of the word sosse drives the point home.

Subtext: Consequently, the counselor sees right through August and refuses to immediately prescribe him the medication that he wants...

Subtext: ...even though August tries to both bribe him and threaten him into giving him the medication he wants.

Subtext: A big theme of this episode is class journeys, and in this scene and a previous exercise scene, August gushes about how good a thing that is, how proud he is of Simon for going on one, and spouts some crap about how everyone can make it if they really want to.

Subtext: Thankfully, Madison says what we're all thinking: August is full of shit, life isn't fair, and they're only at the school because they were born into privilege.

Blink and you miss it: After Wilhelm has nervously texted his crush for the first time, he starts to bite his fingernails, but quickly stops himself, because why would he be nervous? He's just texting another boy about rowing practice, there's nothing more to it!

Subtext: Simon's texting game is on point though, he knows exactly what he should write to get Wilhelm to go on a totally-not-a-date with him.

Subtext: In the same way that August couldn't convince the counselor about being sick, I don't think Wilhelm's atrocious acting here convinces August that he's sick either.

Culture: Public transport in the greater Stockholm area - or wherever we're supposed to be - is of course cash-less, and you pay by either charging a special card, or by signing up in their app and buying tickets through there. The point of this scene though is to drive home how Wilhelm has never ever had to take the bus before in his life, and therefore has no idea how it works.

Culture: The totally-not-a-date starts at a Circle K, which in Sweden is just another gas station, but it is actually a Canadian multi-national convenience store corporation. The price of gas is of course posted in kr/l, and 13.98kr/l corresponds to roughly $6/gal.

Subtext: Throughout the totally-not-a-date, Wilhelm is trying to reach for common ground with Simon, trying to show him how he's just a regular guy...

Subtext: ...but then real life intrudes, Wilhelm is recognized by some local girls, who call out to him and run away giggling, which shows how he's not a regular guy, he's going to get recognized wherever he goes.

Culture: Kokt eller grillat, boiled or grilled, are the two ways you can get your hot-dog at pretty much any hot-dog place in Sweden, and ketchup and mustard is always offered. The correct answer to this question is of course grilled, with ketchup and mustard, and this just shows that Wilhelm is a man of culture and good taste. Unfortunately, they were out grilled ones, so they all got boring soggy boiled hot-dogs instead. Is there a metaphor here? I don't know.

Subtext: Again, the show drives home the point that absolutely no-one has a problem with people being gay. Simon is clearly out to Ayub and the rest of his friends, and Ayub immediately picks up on the fact that this is totally a date.

Blink and you miss it: Ayub nudges Simon with his elbow to tell him that he should make a move on Wilhelm.

Culture: What we're looking at is just the local junior/high school football team, Bjärstad, playing a match against some other unnamed junior football team. Since the stakes are super low, the audience basically consists of whichever parents and friends of the players that could be bothered showing up.

Culture: Driving age is 18 in Sweden, and even then getting your own car at that age is extremely uncommon. However, you can easily get a license for a moped when you turn 15, so these are the vehicles of choice for teenagers to get around.

Subtext: August found out about Wilhelm's trip to town, but his main problem with it is that he wants Wilhelm to stop slumming it with lower class people, and to start hanging out with everyone at school instead, so that he can be properly accultured into the upper class. Again, sosse in this context means working class, not socialist.

Subtext: Although Simon felt really great about his first date with Wilhelm, the text message reminds him that Wilhelm isn't a regular person, and that even this innocent little trip generates interest and scrutiny, and can't be posted publicly.

Culture: As everyone should have noticed by now, Madison keeps speaking English, while everyone speaks to her in Swedish, so clearly she understands it. But here she gives her motivation for sticking to English, and that is that she doesn't feel she's good enough at speaking Swedish. Boarding schools like Hillerska attracts international students that have some kind of connection to the country, so a likely scenario is that Madison grew up in the US with a Swedish parent, and she's being sent here to experience Swedish culture and get immersed in the language to learn it better.

Cinematography: This shot of August drives really home all the pressure he is under, he's out of drugs, the headmistress just hinted that he's out of money, and he's literally being weighed down by books and work-out weights.

Subtext: Simon has kept his visits to Micke a secret from Sara, so here he has to intervene to make sure August doesn't accidentally reveal this to her. He also wants to protect his sister, so he's redirecting August's search for drugs onto himself.

Subtext: And on the flipside, Simon isn't really telling his dad that Sara still hates him and really doesn't want to see him, so he's vague when Micke asks about Sara and Linda.

Culture: Finally a bottle of medicine where we can read the label! Unfortunately for Simon, this is Tramadol, an opiate prescribed for pain relief, which is the complete opposite of the kind of drugs August wants.

Subtext: If you haven't figured out yet that this episode is about class journeys, August spells it out for us here. However, the reason he's "congratulating" Simon in front of everybody is because Simon just supplied him with more drugs, so this is his way of thanking him, since he can't really pay him.

Blink and you miss it: For a split second, Wilhelm grabs Simon's leg during the scary scene.

Subtext: The entire dialogue of the movie works as subtext for what's actually going on between Wilhelm and Simon at this point, and Wilhelm is getting a little freaked out by this sneaky display of affection.

Subtext: The movie also puts words on the implications of Wilhelm getting together with a boy, what about having kids in the future? Can you carry on your family name and traditions, or will they die with you?

Lost in translation: The plaque actually says "FEEL YOUR RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE HERITAGE". Even though the plaque means the heritage and legacy of the school itself, Wilhelm is thinking about his legacy, his heritage, and how getting together with Simon would threaten that.

Lost in translation: Wilhelm actually says "jag är inte en..." - "I'm not a..." before he stops himself. So it's not possible that he was trying to say "I'm not gay", because that doesn't work grammatically in Swedish either. He could be trying to say "I'm not a guy like that" or "I'm not a guy who likes guys", that would work.

Cinematography: The framing and silhouetting of this shot is just chef's kiss. The outline of their hair allows us to see who is who, and we can see from their poses that Simon is welcoming a kiss, while Wilhelm is still hesitating.

[spine-buster]

the hurt/comfort, pt. 2; continued.

A/N: ...and now, the resolution. And I promise it gets better from here :)

Side note: I cannot take credit for the words in the note -- they were beautifully written by the Quebecois director Xavier Dolan after the tragic passing of French actor Gaspard Ulliel, and was in his tribute to Ulliel on Instagram.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s missing?!” Rasmus shrieked frantically.

“—Listen, Aleida went out to find her—” Aberdeen tried to explain, but to no avail.

“Find her? What the fu—Aberdeen, what the fuck happened?!”

“Ras, calm down—” William tried to intervene, but again to no avail.

“Hur kan någon förvänta sig att jag ska vara lugn när min flickvän är försvunnen?!” Rasmus shouted in Swedish, the only language he could even think to express himself in right now towards his best friend. [[ How can anyone expect me to be calm when my girlfriend is missing?! ]]

“Saylor was at the game tonight and caught her in the family lounge. She made a comment about needing Bio Oil for her scars on her face and how brutal they are. Aleida caught her crying in the washroom but when she went to check on her again, she was gone,” Aberdeen tried to explain as calmly and quickly as she could.

Rasmus felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. It was almost as if he shifted back to being a young kid unable to speak or understand English when the words left Aberdeen’s mouth. It was only when the weight of the words finally hit him that he felt himself become red with anger. “She’s fucking dead,” he seethed.

“You don’t have to worry about her,” Bee piped in, still holding Helena who was sound asleep. “Aleida called Chris and had her and Gina arrested for cocaine possession in the stands. It was an entire scene. They were caught on security cameras.”

Morgan, John, William, Fred – all their jaws dropped. Fred always knew his wife still had it in her. But that didn’t matter right now – what did matter was that Lusine was somewhere in downtown Toronto and Aleida was trying to find her. What also mattered was that Helena needed to be put to bed, regardless of how comfortable Bee’s arms were. “Bee, give her to me. If I get home I can see if Aleida brought Lusine over,” Fred said, outstretching his arms.

“I gotta go find her,” Rasmus mumbled, bolting for the stairs – not even having the patience to wait for the elevator.

“Hey!” William yelled after him. “You don’t even know where she is!”

“Better to look!” Rasmus yelled back, more determined than ever to find her.

***

Lusine was cold, but the heat blasting from the vents in Fred and Aleida’s car were warming her quickly. When a nice car had pulled up to her on the curb, honking, she thought the worst if she was being honest. Like, the worst – that she would be kidnapped or something. That she’d made the stupidest decision of her life running away from Scotiabank Arena and now one of her kidneys would be sold on the black market. But when the window rolled down and she saw Aleida’s face, she wasn’t as nervous – just confused. Aleida screamed at her to get in the car so they could go back to her townhouse. Lusine agreed, because it wasn’t like she was going to start defying Aleida. If it was anyone else, Lusine probably would have ran away down an alley to lose them, steadfast on wanting to walk home alone in the snowstorm while tears were still streaming down her face.

“How’d you know where to find me?” Lusine asked, her voice completely void of emotion as she curled up in the passenger seat. She was so emotionally exhausted, embarrassed of her behaviour, and just wanted to forget about everything.

“I didn’t. I made a lucky guess,” Aleida said. “Bay Street is always the street people choose because it’s quieter and you get to be alone with your tears.”

Lusine almost hated how accurate and on point Aleida was about everything. She decided not to respond, because she didn’t know if she could emotionally take it. In the silence, a text came through on the CarPlay. “Text message from…Fred heart emoji,” the computerized woman’s voice spoke loudly. “Helena is in bed. Did you find Lusine?”

“Respond to Fred,” Aleida spoke out. She waited for the screen to change. “We are on our way home.”

Lusine looked over at Aleida. “If Rasmus—can you please tell him I’m safe but I don’t want to see him or speak to him right now?”

“I can,” Aleida nodded her head, “but you know he’ll be upset and want to see you.”

“I know. But I can’t face him right now. Not after what I did and how I feel.”

The rest of the car ride was silent. Aleida pulled up to a very posh and modern looking townhouse, parking the car in the garage. They both got out of the car – Lusine with very little life in her – and followed Aleida to the garage door that led into the house. The second Aleida took out her key and stuck it in the lock, her phone began to ring. With only a single glance down at her screen, she looked back at Lusine. “Go inside, Lusine. I’ll meet you in there.”

“Is that Rasmus?”

“Go inside.”

Lusine did as she was told. She stepped in, leaving Aleida in the garage, who closed the door behind her. Lusine stood awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do. She didn’t want to step into (what seemed like) this impeccably styled townhouse without permission.

“Is that you, babe?” Lusine suddenly heard Fred’s voice. She stood petrified in her spot as she watched his head pop out of a corner. When he saw it was her and not his beautiful, stunning wife, his face visibly changed – and softened. “Oh, hey Lusine.”

“Hi Frederik.”

“Freddie.”

“Aleida’s just—” she pointed towards the garage door, “—I think she’s on the phone with Rasmus.”

“Come in,” he said, waving her inside the house. “You want tea or something?”

Lusine shook her head. “I’m—no thank you, I’m fine,” she responded. “You have a beautiful home.”

“It’s even more beautiful if you come out of the hallway,” he cracked a smile.

Lusine took off her shoes and walked into the house gingerly, trying not to make a peep. She looked around, impressed with how styled and sophisticated everything looked. It was like a show home, but a lived-in show home. Lusine didn’t know how to explain it. It looked like it could be featured in a magazine spread, but it was also very obvious that a family lived in the space – from the playmat in the family room to the painted hand art hanging on the fridge and more. “You want chamomile? Peppermint tea?” Fred asked again, watching her as she looked around his home.

She was so shy, but Fred was being so warm that – like Aleida – she couldn’t deny him. “Um, chamomile is good. Thank you.”

He smiled before grabbing the kettle on the stove, setting up mugs and teabags. Lusine heard the garage door open and Aleida walk in. “Hey babe,” she called out.

“Hey,” Fred called back. “I’m making chamomile.”

“I’ll have one too,” Lusine could hear her. Eventually, she heard her footsteps down the hallway, and when Lusine looked behind her, Aleida was there in all her glory. Aleida put her hands on Lusine’s shoulders. “I’m going to check Helena. Then we can talk.”

Lusine nodded quietly. She watched as Aleida and Fred greeted each other, kissing and mumbling something to each other over the store before Aleida went upstairs for Helena. Sitting at their kitchen island, completely desolate, Lusine could only watch Fred as he prepared the tea mugs and filled the kettle. It wasn’t until he turned around to face her that he spoke. “Rasmus is crazy about you, you know.”

Lusine felt like crying all over again, but she kept it together. If it was so obvious to his teammates, why were there people hellbent on its destruction? “I know,” she said softly, nodding her head. “I’m crazy about him too.”

“What happened with those girls—whatever it was…” Fred began. “You’re better than that.”

“They made fun of my scars,” Lusine said. “Why—I mean, why would they do that?”

Fred shrugged. “I could tell you something you’ve probably heard a hundred times, but I’ll just tell you the truth,” he prefaced. “They’re fucking horrible people. That’s it. There’s nothing else to understand, Lusine, so stop trying to understand it. They’re horrible people, plain and simple.”

He was right. He was so right in his simplicity that Lusine almost wanted it to be more complicated because then that meant she might be able to wrap her head around it more. Sometimes, it was the simple things that were so hard to understand. “I don’t even—I don’t even care that they tried to get under my skin by telling me Rasmus tried to hook up with Sadie. It’s—”

“Rasmus never tried to hook up with Sadie,” Fred had furrowed his brows. “We all stay the hell away from that group. Plus he lived with William, and something like that wouldn’t have happened under his watch.”

She knew she just said she didn’t care, but there was still the slightest bit of relief in Lusine hearing those words come out of Fred. “Good to know.”

“And he was so angry when he heard what happened,” Fred told her. “Kasperi’s gotten yelled at by Morgan, me – on two separate and unrelated incidents – and Willy for his choice in women, so this was bound to happen. So he’ll be hearing from Rasmus too now. I don’t even think what Aleida did would cheer him up.”

It was Lusine’s turn to furrow her brows. “What did Aleida do?”

Fred smirked – proud of his wife. “She had Saylor and Gina arrested in the stands for cocaine possession.”

Lusine was stunned. Stunned. Arrested. For cocaine possession. The entire situation sounded like insanity, but if anybody was capable of doing such a thing – of getting someone arrested for cocaine possession in the stands of a Leafs game – it was Aleida Casillas-Andersen. Lusine tried to picture it – the security, the cops, the girls. She imagined shrieks. Screams. Bad behaviour.

Lusine actually laughed out loud.

She immediately covered her smile and giggles with her hands, staring at Fred who had an amused look on his face at her reaction. Then, they shared a moment – they both giggled. “Aleida’s a badass,” Lusine said.

“You don’t know the half of it, Lusine,” he said proudly.

“What are you two giggling about?” Aleida had a smile on her face as she descended the stairs, changed out of her stylish outfit and into comfier clothing.

“You,” Fred smiled at her. “How badass you are.”

She was thoroughly amused. It was the first time she saw Lusine smile in an at least an hour. “How about you go upstairs. We won’t be long,” she said, standing on her tip-toes to kiss him.

Fred gave Lusine one last nod before heading upstairs. At this point, the kettle was just starting to whistle, and Aleida took it off the stove and poured the hot water into the mugs. She slid Lusine’s to her across the counter. “You’re going to stay here tonight,” she said definitively, wrapping her hands around the hot mug. “I’ll get you some pyjamas. If you want to take a shower you’re more than welcome.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“When I spoke to Rasmus on the phone, he was a bit frantic and I had to calm him down. I told him to respect your decision, that you were safe with me.”

“Thanks.”

“But know that he’s antsy to see you and talk to you.”

“I would imagine so,” Lusine nodded slightly, taking a sip of her tea. “I’m—I’m sorry for running away from the arena.”

“What made you? If you don’t mind me asking,” Aleida said. “I thought I had talked you down enough that you would have been okay.”

“I just—I…” Lusine stuttered out, shrugging her shoulders. She could tell Aleida a lot, but some things she had to keep for herself. Or keep for Rasmus when they talked. Because she knew there was going to be a loooong talk once they saw each other again. “I just think my mind got the best of me.”

Aleida nodded, knowing in her own way Lusine didn’t want to reveal too much. Neither did she when she was a struggling nineteen year old. But that was why she continued to struggle as opposed to get better all those years ago. “Above all else…aside from anything and everything that happened tonight, and regardless of what was said to you, just know that nobody cares about your scars. I can promise you.”

Lusine nodded, smiling appreciatively. At the end of the day, that was the core of the problem – that was what set everything off. Lusine found some comfort in those words coming from Aleida. “Thank you.”

Aleida stared at her for a few moments before grabbing her mug. “I’ll go get your pyjamas. Just to let you know, Helena wakes up around seven.”

Lusine changed, finished her tea, moved some extra pillows off the couch, laid out the blanket, and settled into ‘bed’. In the darkness of the room, with nothing but the stove light on in the kitchen, she took out her phone for the first time in hours. She had fifteen missed calls from Rasmus, and thirteen texts from him.

She teared up. She’d caused him so much anxiety and stress and she wished she could just take it all back. But she also knew she wasn’t ready to text him back, because, well…she didn’t know what to say to him yet. How could she explain her actions? How could she verbalize her thoughts and what was going through her mind as the words “they’re brutal” still rung like a church bell every other minute? She knew the answers she needed and how to move on were within herself and not to be found in other people, but her mind was so tired from fighting the battle that she couldn’t see it or find it yet. It would come – she knew that – just not as she slept on someone’s couch.

She closed the texts, as much as it pained her to read them and not respond. The next thing she did was open Instagram and change her profile to a private. Too little too late – she knew that – but it was better late than never. She didn’t even bother to scroll through her feed. She typed in the only handles she needed to check.

nhlwags

The most recent post on the feed was a video. Even from the tiny square, Lusine could make out lettering in the back that made her sure it was Scotiabank Arena. She held her breath as she clicked it and watched the scene unfold from a fan’s camera: two big, buff security officials arguing with fans in the stands, the view obstructed because of their large frames. But then the fans stood up angrily, and there they were in all their glory: Saylor and Gina. One of the security guards grabbed Saylor’s wrists, while the other grabbed Gina’s, and both of them took out handcuffs at the same time. The text overlay on the original video read “Ppl getting arrested at the leafs game??? WTF LOL”, but the owner of the page – and people in the comments – had all the information anybody would ever want.

nhlwags: LMAO can’t believe this actually happened!!!!! Saylor Greene and one of her friends apparently got arrested in the stands of the game!!! Public intoxication? Disorderly conduct? Anyone have details? Video sent by anon.

katcargill16: was in the last row in this section. Saw them being escorted out in handcuffs. No word of a lie, I heard the security guy say cocaine. On God.

leafs4ever: LOL WHAT THE HELL

franciejean: kappy sure knows how to pick ‘em

ellaellaella: was also there. def cocaine possession. those girls were high as a fucking kite. does it surprise anyone, knowing what we know of saylor and what she tried to do to aberdeen bloom when she worked for the leafs? girl is a mess.

Though she was shocked at the length Aleida would go to in order to avenge her, despite barely knowing her, Lusine locked her phone and placed it on the coffee table before bringing the blanket up to right underneath her chin. It was time to go to bed. No more thinking. No more watching videos. No more reading gossip. No more reading comments. No more thoughts of “they’re brutal” repeating over and over in her head. The day was over. It was time for sleep.

It was time for the day to end.

***

Rasmus couldn’t sleep. At all. He’d been tossing and turning all night, unable to sleep more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time. It was abysmal. All he could keep thinking about was what had happened to Lusine, and how he couldn’t be there for her. He imagined every scenario of how he thought it went down in his head. He thought of thousands of possibilities as to how the words were said by Saylor. He knew how those words had the capacity to cut through Lusine’s soul – and they did.

He finally kicked the covers off his body just before 8am. He looked at his phone to see no replies to his text messages or calls. He let out a shaky breath, hoping and praying that Lusine was still safe with Aleida. Maybe he’d call Aleida to see how Lusine was doing. Maybe he’d just show up to their townhouse and ask to speak with Lusine. Whatever grand idea he came up with next, however farfetched, would be much better than lying in his bed, mind in a daze, thinking about how much Lusine was hurting right now.

So he resolved to do just that. He pulled himself up out of bed and stripped down to take a quick shower – getting all the grime and the memories of being worried sick yesterday off his body. When he was finished, he wrapped a towel around himself and went out into his kitchen for some water.

And that’s when he saw something peculiar at his front door.

Something had – miraculously – been slipped under the door, and lay alone on his floor right beside his mess of shoes. He was generally a pretty clean guy, so he knew it wasn’t something of his. He approached it quickly. The paper was small, crumpled – the type of paper waitresses would write your order on at old greasy spoon diners. He picked it up.

***

Lusine heard a banging on her apartment door and automatically knew that Rasmus had gotten her note. She had surprised herself that entire morning by not crying – not when she got re-dressed in her clothes, not when Aleida came down with a happy Helena, not when Aleida offered to drive her home but she said no because she wanted to walk and clear her head – but she knew she was going to cry now with Rasmus here. It was on that walk that Lusine thought of the sentiment she eventually wrote down on the old piece of paper; it was on that walk that Lusine made a promise to herself to tell Rasmus everything, and not leave anything out; it was on that walk that Lusine resolved to build back what was taken from her by two simple words.

She took a deep breath before she opened the door, but nothing could prepare her for the weight and the power and the haste of Rasmus’s body wrapping itself around hers. It felt like all the air was taken from her lungs, but she quickly regained life in her upon feeling Rasmus’s touch on her body. “Oh min lilla fågel,” he let out, his voice shaky and relieved and tortured and soothed all at once as he buried his face deep into the crook of her neck. “Lilla fågel, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, clinging on to him so tight that when he lifted her up into his arms, her legs wrapped around him automatically. “I’m so sorry I made you worried last night.”

“Shhh…” he cooed, taking his head out from the crook of her neck. “You don’t need to apologize. You just need to tell me what happened. How I can make it better.”

“Not right now,” she shook her head. She valued the feel of his touch too much to spoil it with memories of yesterday. “Right now I just want you to hold me. Will you hold me?”

As if Rasmus would say no. He carried her to her bedroom, closing the door with his foot as he saw Piper laying down in the bed, no doubt having just been cuddled by Lusine before she opened the door for him. Rasmus brought them down on the bed and held Lusine; Piper took her cue to climb on top of them, nestling between them. For a few moments, as they lay in bed together, everything was perfect; it was like they were their own little family and there was mothing in the outside world that could spoil it.

When Lusine finally spoke, she told him everything. Everything. Every last detail of the interaction and how she felt. What Aleida said and how she took it. How she ran out of Scotiabank Arena because she wasn’t thinking straight but also couldn’t bear to be in the same building as girls who made her feel the way they did. Her feelings walking alone sobbing on the streets of Toronto. Rasmus listened to every word. He got angry when she told him about the interaction with Saylor and needed to be calmed down. He got curious when he was told everything that Aleida said. He got angry again when he pictured Lusine walking the streets of Toronto alone. He softened when she told him what Fred said to her. It felt like he went through every emotion he possible could before she finished.

“You don’t think…” she began, almost holding back her words. “Do you think my parents were right?”

“No,” he said definitively, shaking his head. “No way. You proved them wrong. They were never right.”

“You don’t think—” she stopped again, composing herself. “You don’t think it was a mistake moving here, do you?”

“No. God no,” he said, kissing her. “If you came here, I would have never met you. And what kind of life would I be living?”

Lusine began to tear up again. “I don’t want to be a burden to you like I was on my parents.”

“No no no no no no no no,” he cooed, shaking his head before giving her a kiss. “I don’t want you ever thinking that again, okay? How could—how could you even? You are not a burden, never have been to me and never will be.”

“I just love you so much, Ras.”

“I love you too,” he kissed her again, for a long time this time, before finally pulling away. “What can I do to make it better?” he asked again, just like he did earlier when he burst through the door and clung on to her for dear life. He kissed her lips quickly.

“You make everything better by just being here,” she said, bringing her hand up to caress his face. “I mean it, Ras. Being here right now cuddling with Piper is the best thing in the world.”

He cuddled closer into her, burying his face in the crook of her neck before placing soft, sweet kisses on her skin. She began running her fingers through his hair. “What if we go get married, hmm? What if I bring you downtown and we got married.”

That somehow garnered a giggle out of Lusine – an honest to God, music-to-his-ears giggle. “You wanna make me a teen bride?” she quipped back.

“I wanna make you a bride. I’ll marry you right now, lilla fågel.”

Lusine couldn’t help but smile – because she knew Rasmus was being 100% serious. And to be fair, a small part of her wanted to take him up on the offer. “Okay,” she wanted to say. “I’ll put on a dress and we can go to City Hall and get married.” But the rational side of her mind prevailed instead (which was good, because she’d acted irrational by running away last night), and she made him look at her instead of hiding his face in her neck. “Someday,” she kissed the tip of his nose. “Today I just want to lie here with you and Piper and leave everything in the past so I can think about everything that’s ahead of me.”

And they did just that. They cuddled with Piper, and Rasmus even fell asleep with his face tucked into the crook of her neck. They got up to take Piper out for a walk around the neighbourhood in the newly fallen snow and held hands the entire time, even stopping to kiss every so often. When they got back, they cuddled again and Rasmus took another nap with Piper lying with him. Lusine thought the scene before her was perfection.

Because it was.

The little life she’d built with Rasmus and Piper was perfect.

[spinthewheelofromance]

Meet the LI's

As a BIG point of reference. The colors are off because tumblr is restrictive haha. Lex:

Full Name: Lex Bergstrom (Lex Burg-strum)

Pronouns: Xey/Xem/They/Them (genderqueer)Sexuality: OmniAge/Birthday: 19 (Jan 1st)

Height: 6’3”

Ethnicity: Norwegian/Swedish 

Position: Switch 

Likes: brunost, improv, acting, cooking, baking for others, being a bastard (damn bitch, you lanky and have an attitude), romance novels/manga, gaming, cousins (best friends), Vocaloid, rain, Nightcore (understandable but damn.) Their lizard named Brann

Dislikes: talking shit, ableist comments on eye, xyr body, carrots (ew), sarcasm (although they do it, wow hypocrisy), band kids (it's mostly a joke….maybe), xyr Christian parents (told them they're sinning for how they changed their name), basketball (played it in high school)

Love Language

Giving: nothing Acts of Service/Quality Time

Receiving: Words of Affirmation 

Rania:

Full Name: Rania Habib (Raan-ya Haa-beeb) 

Pronouns: She/Her (trans) Sexuality: Demi/Omni Age/Birthday: 19 (July 21st) 

Height: 5'1 (Lumi height lmfao) (rude </3)

Ethnicity: Cyrpus/Egyptian/Japanese 

Position: Power bottom/Switch

Likes: halloumi cheese, very gen Z humor (fried memes make her snort), fashion! (Decora; japan), studying (English literature student but works part-time at the in-school bookstore), koshary (dish), plushies, her books <3, cats, long naps, societal issues, her cat BiBi

Dislikes: being told she's over-cluttered, being held back in her studying (she wants to finish it in one go if she can, although she takes breaks), being owned things, popping candy (surprisingly), her fucking shit and wack ass classmates, existence, girl can't cook sorry

Love Language

Giving: Words of Affirmation 

Receiving: Physical Touch

Darius:

Full Name: Darius Harris (Dar-ee-us Hair-is) 

Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Pan Age/Birthday: 28 (October 26th

Height: 5’6”

Ethnicity: African American

Position: Service Top

Likes: laughing cow Cheese, his kid. His kid very much, loves his kid (will do anything for her), his job, surprisingly! He actively likes knowing the town and speaking to the regulars every day, DND! (Nerd), jazz (plays a few different instruments;) ), fruit loops (on God he eats it uP), coffee snob, his apartment decorations, hockey, dad jokes

Dislikes: smoking, Starbucks, newer pokemon games, Mcdonald's fries (they really went downhill in recent years), garbage not put on the curbside (PLEASE PUT IT IN THE RIGHT PLACE HE TRIES HIS BEST), people who tell him he works a shit job :( (he likes it a lot how dare you insult his trash), glitter (that shit gets everywhere), (monarchy shhhh secret)

Love Language

Giving: Quality Time/Gift Giving

Receiving: Acts of Service 

Perkins:

Full Name: Perkins Arsenault (Perk-ins R-sen-o)

Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Bi Age/Birthday: 21 (April 22)

Height: 6’2”

Ethnicity: Québécois/Canadian

Position: Switch

Likes: oka cheese (blue cheese is second best), his mom's <3, cheese. His cows!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Millie <3), calligraphy, nature hikes/long walks, road trips, baking bread, yoga, gardening, sunset/sunrise, fruit snacks, those pamphlets you get when you travel 

Dislikes: Animal cruelty, large crowds, the cold, pineapple on pizza (IT DOESNT BELONG THERE), peaches, hotel mints (he’s been tricked far too many times thinking it was just chocolate), doing nothing

Love Language

Giving: Acts of Service 

Receiving: Quality Time

Milo:

Full Name: Milo Davis (Mee-lo Day-vis)

Pronouns: He/They/She (Intersex/Genderfluid) Sexuality: Bi Age/Birthday: 25 (September 1st)

Height: 5’11”

Ethnicity: Australian

Position: Top (youre welcome Lumi)

Likes: goat cheese, strawberry milk (secretly), his tattoos, oil paint/acrylics, rock, leather clothes, BBQ fanatic (cooks really well), specific paint brushes (Rembrandt), quietness, fucking with people (will make you believe stupid things), ex-wife (1 year). Mom <3, AAA meetings, yellow, punk fashion and ideology 

Dislikes: hot dogs (will kill on sight), alcohol (ex ad.), Fighting, fake rock fans, watercolor paint, math, pickles (has cried before), mocking. Loud noise. 

Love Language

Giving: Quality Time

Receiving: Physical Touch

Andrés:

Full Name: Andrés (Roberto) Rodríguez (Han-dre) (Rode-dre-gaze)

Pronouns:They/Them (amab) (agender) Sexuality: Pan Age/Birthday: 20 (July 7th)

Height: 5’3”

Ethnicity: Cuban

Position: Switch (Top leaning)

Likes: queso nabacoa, guayaba, dancing (hip hop), family!!! Big time especially his grandfather, soccer (inter Miami CF), photography, cigarettes, caffecito 

Dislikes: puns (sorry for your loss in humor bro), water (can't swim for shit, will drown), horror movies (horror in general), anyone who says bullshit about his team <\3, being dismissed when he talks about his interests 

Love Language

Giving: Quality Time

Receiving: Acts of Service 

Merry:

Full Name: Merry Winsterfield (Mare-ee Win-stir-field)

Pronouns: She/They (enby) Sexuality: Omni Age/Birthday: 25 (May 5th)

Height: 5’5”

Ethnicity: American/Irish

Position: Bottom

Likes: cheddar, video games, Instagram-worthy dinners, social interaction, skateboarding, mom's side of the family, beer!

Dislikes: unfashionable people, being criticized, overworking herself, ducks. Hates ducks (they scare her), her dad, panic attacks

Love Language

Giving: Quality Time/Physical Touch

Receiving: Gift Giving

Liam:

Full Name: Liam Hugon (Lee-am U-ong)

Pronouns: He/Him (trans) Sexuality: Pan Age/Birthday: 22 (March 17th)

Height: 6’1”

Ethnicity: Vietnamese/American 

Position: Switch (Bottom leaning)

Likes: brie, designer clothes, big-time fashion nerd, sewing!, Drawing (has to do with fashion but has drawn other pieces), reading, Bún thịt nướng (good AF tbh, pop off Liam), high-end restaurants…like reservations are impossible to get in I mean bro, does work out (has an in-home gym ;) ) and helps out at the community garden, providing for loved one's, has a dad who was very supportive of his transition (although he's a traditional man)

Dislikes: one of the aunties that keeps telling him that he's not "a real man," and etc. Good old transphobia from old traditional people, am I right, lads, yelling, cucumber (will fight you if about how gross they are), ex (toxic mf? Can't imagine), anything that's pure wool….just ew. Being recognized in the streets/paparazzi (although not famous famous still has a following important enough)

Love Language

Giving: Gift Giving

Receiving: Words of Affirmation