#it's still easier after all these years to write well in german than in english?? that really surprised me & now i want to do it more often

[placeofwonder]

lately: enjoyed my beautiful town in the sun and reviewed two plays for the student magazine, which is a great outlet for the part of my brain that wishes I was still studying humanities

[chaosfairy18]

Spelling lessons

A short (2k) fic with the idea that I posted recently of Dutchy not being able to understand English spelling (and being annoyed about it) and then accepting some help from Specs

It has some Decs (DutchyxSpecs) at the end because it was too cute not to (Also Dutchy's name is Zacharias and Specs' Victor, there is only a small scene that is relevant, but it can't hurt to say)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

English spelling might be Dutchy‘s nemesis actually.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t write, he’d learned back in elementary school in the Netherlands, he knew the alphabet, thank you very much, and he also knew how to speak German – they lived close to the border – and even read most of it because it just looked similar, he could at least guess the meaning if he had to and since he knew how to speak it, it wasn’t too difficult to grasp reading or writing, all in all.

French was harder, but since there had been some people speaking French in his little town, he’d also learned speaking that.

He might have been an annoying kid, always hanging on their lips and asking for more words, more things to learn, but it was just too interesting to him.

Now he couldn’t really write much in French, he’d learnt a bit back then, but it wasn’t enough, not really.

Then he’d gone on that ship to America with his aunt and uncle. The time they had took to get to America was more than enough to grasp the basics of English, especially due to its similarities to French, Dutch and German. The men and women Dutchy had spent every day learning the language from mostly hadn’t been able to read though, and it wasn’t like he had to learn that. He knew how to read, it couldn’t be that hard.

After being basically ditched by his aunt and uncle he’d quickly found the lodging house – after all he had learnt the language and could ask around where a boy with some money could find work or a place to stay – and Kloppman hadn’t believed he was only there for less than a day, though he was even more impressed when he correctly guessed his accent and started talking in German which was still easier than English though it wouldn’t take long until he didn’t care what he spoke.

Now all that was well and good if it weren’t for the fact that he had to sell newspapers that had headlines. See, these newspapers were sometimes available in Dutch or German, but of course most were in English and for some reason the Americans or the Brits had decided to make their spelling the most confusing thing in existence. If he heard one of the other newsies say the headline, he knew exactly what it meant, but combining that with the letters he saw on the board? It felt impossible, even now.

Maybe it was his pride in knowing languages that kept him from asking anyone for help, maybe it was that he avoided the language classes in the lodge and instead took the ones on math, but at this point he was almost dead set to not comply with this idiotic spelling in newspapers.

That didn’t mean he could read the headline any better.

“What’s it say?”, he asked Skittery, pretending he was just cleaning his glasses and therefore couldn’t see it right now.

Skittery, who had been reading a novel of some kind as he was standing in line scoffed and snapped his book shut, obviously annoyed. “It says ‘learn to read, idiot’.”

Dutchy froze as he was just about to put on his glasses again. What had he just called him? He could read, in two (and a half) languages even, he could even write and speak more languages than Skittery could probably name, and he dared call him an idiot-

“Says the guy that fell into the river last week.”, interrupted Specs, subtly pushing Dutchy away from Skittery before he really could let the situation escalate and call Skittery names in 4 different languages and whatever else he had picked up over the years.

“That don’t make me an idiot, clumsy maybe. And I got shoved.”

The tall boy quickly got engrossed in his novel again, only looking up if Tumbler was running around him, otherwise ignoring them.

“You aren’t an idiot.”, was the first thing Specs said to him, all quiet as if it was a secret.

“I know. It’s not my fault English is so-“

“You can’t keep not learnin’ because you don’t want to, Dutch.” Specs pushed his hands in his pant pockets. “I could help you, if you want.”

Dutchy’s first instinct was to bite back that he didn’t need help, but maybe he did. And Specs was his closest friend, it wasn’t like he was making fun of him. “If you’re offerin’.”

“You could read books if you learnt. Spoil the ends for Skitts.”

He snorted, hitting Specs with his elbow. “You’ve seen me read books.”

“Not in English.”

“Fine. I’ll let you help.”

They got their papes from Wiesel – every day Dutchy had to bite back a comment on it was actually Weasel because he knew how to read that word – and split up to sell, Specs saying he’d come by later to start their ‘lessons’.

Of course, Specs had to keep his word, one unsold pape and a book in hand, bowler hat and vest already discarded somewhere in the bunk room. He wouldn’t get out of it then.

Shame.

Dutchy let himself be dragged to the roof, the evening sun making the temperatures comfortably warm rather than sweltering. Specs dragged some crates to the middle of the roof, and they sat down around them, the newspaper and book placed on them.

“So, you can read the alphabet fine, right? That’s the same.”

“Again: You’ve seen me read a book and write my name.”

Specs rolled his eyes. “Yes, just wanted to make sure.” He opened up the first article of the World. “Maybe it’ll help if I read it to you. You know the words, then you’ll see the spelling as I say it.”

Shrugging, he moved a bit closer to Specs so he could properly see the line he had his finger under to indicate what he was reading. He didn’t want help like this, but since at a first glance he could only read the shorter words in the article he probably did need it.

Sadly.

“Man with parachute leaps from Brooklyn Bridge-“

“Wait that’s how you spell bridge? Where is the e coming from?” He could live with silent letters, at least if there was an explanation for them.

Specs pinched the bridge of his nose. “I dunno the rules, Zach. Just- read with me, okay?”

The rest of the article was interesting enough – the man had used a modified umbrella to jump of the bridge and had only barely survived – but Dutchy wasn’t sure how much he was learning yet. Some words he knew and recognized, others he was completely stunned as to where that spelling could come from and if he could remember them.

“I don’t think it’s working.”, he sighed after the third article.

“We just started today. Rome wasn’t built in a day and all’at.”

Dutchy bit back his retort and just kept listening to Specs read, trying to recognize words he’d heard today before.

Of course, the lessons didn’t stop after a day. Contrary to what Dutchy had hoped for, Specs was very good at remembering it every evening and dragging him to the rooftop, going through more articles or through a chapter of a book.

And even worse: He had to admit it was working.

Especially in papes there were headlines that came again and again, so he recognized almost everything on the chalkboard every morning now, there were just a few words that he had to quietly ask Specs about.

That also meant that he began to slack a bit in their lessons. It was working, but he didn’t like admitting to being wrong, so he still sat there – he was Specs’ friend after all and he was going through a lot of trouble to teach him – but he wasn’t listening to his every word anymore, instead looking up to see his dark eyes trace the words and his mouth open again and again.

At first it wasn’t that intense, just looking at his friend a bit before going back to the tiny black words, but the more he looked at him, the more he had to admit that he was fascinating to watch. His eyes were dark, even in the light, pupil and iris not much different in colour, almost as dark as the coffee they got from the nuns in the morning when they were lucky.

Specs didn’t seem to notice whenever he wasn’t paying attention, so it happened more and more over the days.

And not just in their lessons either. Dutchy’s gaze was drifting to Specs more and more frequently while selling, eating in the lodge, standing in line at the distribution centre and when they got ready for the day in the morning.

As already stated, Dutchy wasn’t an idiot, there weren’t a lot of reasons why he would be drawn to his friend so much. It was obvious, really, and the last few lessons he had spent his time half listening to Specs – he always looked so sad if Dutchy didn’t get any of the words they already went over – and half planning to show his affections to him.

Reading out loud a chapter of one of the few romance books they had down in the lodge didn’t work – Specs was only happy that he had gotten through it with almost no stumbling over words – and the extra touches while selling together didn’t seem to work either.

Maybe he’d just have to be direct about it.

The next evening they sat on the rooftop of the lodge again and Dutchy let Specs talk a bit, attempting to explain why a specific word was spelt how it was – because of course after Dutchy complained that he didn’t get the rules he had looked them up and asked Kloppman because he was invested into helping his friends like that – and only getting distracted by the way his lips moved and his eyes shone just a bit brighter than usual.

It seemed as good a time as any.

Dutchy made Specs trail off by tilting his friend’s chin up with his finger and leaning in close. “Maybe for today I can teach you something, Victor.”

The other’s eyes grew wide and taking his quickly reddening face as confirmation Dutchy kissed him for a short moment, smiling as Specs chased after his lips just a bit when he leaned back.

“So you’re okay with that?”

“Very.”, croaked out Specs, still not completely convinced this was actually happening.

Smiling wider, Dutchy pulled his glasses off – he’d felt them press into each other uncomfortably in the first brief kiss – and leaned in again, just trying out how Specs’ lips felt against his, how it felt like to hold his jaw as he did so, how he reacted when he moved his hair out of his face.

Everything was as good as he’d thought, Specs also getting more comfortable throughout the minutes, he almost wasn’t burning red anymore when they separated again, Dutchy leaning his forehead against Specs’.

“Hope you liked the lesson.”, he whispered, glad he’d begrudgingly accepted the offer for spelling lessons weeks ago.

Specs looked at him like he’d just taught him all the secrets of the universe. “Yeah. I’d love more. Only if you-“

He gave him a peck on the cheek. “Of course, darling.”

That made Specs burn up again, putting his head in his hands and groaning. “You can’t just say that!”

“I can call you whatever I want, darling.”

Specs curled even more in on himself, ears completely red. “Stooop.”

Laughing more about his friend’s state, Dutchy leaned in closer and put an arm around his waist, closing his eyes and enjoying the heat of the evening sun and his new partner next to him.

[demcnsinmymind]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. ( REPOST DO NOT REBLOG ! )

○    name: Veri (short for veritaaas) is the nickname I usually roll with :)

○    pronouns: she/her.

○    preference of communication: tumblr ims tbh. I do have a disco but we also use disco for work so it generally stresses me out to see it blink/make noises

○     name of muse(s): Lance, Azathoth, Kiara (@thatevester)

○    experience/how long (months/years?): writing in German in general since late elementary school, English fanfic writing since 2012, RPing since 2018

○    platforms you’ve used: livejournal (lol), tumblr, disco

○    best experience: coming back after a 4 year break last year and still having some loyal mutuals left (once again shout out to awesome peops like @greatwrath and @orphanedshadow), while at the same time making a lot of new friends and dearly beloved mutuals. I just LOVE writing with you guys!

○    rp pet peeves / dealbreakers: It just upsets me so much when people start following first, only to then never bother interacting in any way whatsover. be that sending in a meme from my meme tag that is always there to choose from and easily accessible, or replying to opens or liking the permanent starter call. Like, all that stuff is in my pinned post and super easy to find and access both on a pc or on mobile. It literally takes like two clicks and a copy paste and here we go, we’re rolling. And especially if you’re too shy to start up an IM conversation/plotting first - it’s so easy to get something started by just sending something in without comment. I’ll be more than happy to reply and wing it and start developing something from there. But to have people follow you who can’t be bothered to get anything started for weeks, if not months and always having to be the one to start things first only to see your efforts to reach out be ignored as well, is seriously discouraging. If you don’t have time to actually interact or aren’t interested after all, don’t get my hopes up and don’t start following me first. It is as simple as that. I get excited every time I gain a new follower because I assume they’re interested and I’m super looking forward to getting something  started with their character soon. But if I’m just there to boost a number, well, no thanks. I’ll softblock sooner or later. And if you’re too shy to start something first, my posts and IMs are always open to give me a heads up. Then I’ll be more than happy to write you something first. But then again, that’s what the starter call is already for, that takes just one click on a heart and that’s it, so I seriously don’t get a complete lack of interaction. It’s not really about who starts something first, it’s more about a complete lack of effort/communication/interest on one side. Sorry for the rant haha.

○    fluff, angst, or smut: angst > smut > fluff. Though I admit my blog could use a little more fluff and comedy every now and then

○    plots or memes: truth be told, I’m super into winging stuff. I write based on emotions and how I feel and think in a moment, I’m not much one to plan far ahead and just keep talking about writing for a while instead of just doing it. I simply get to excited to just start writing right away :D HOWEVER, if people require some plotting first, I’ll be more than happy to do so. My goal is to build fun character relationships and developments over time too. I just get there differently most of the time.

○    long or short replies: looks at the blog. Laughs. I can’t do short replies for the life of me, though once again, I’ll be more than happy to try much harder and keep it short if my partner asks for it. Personally, I just have much more fun exploring thoughts and emotions, so my replies tend to get heavy on the descriptive and heavy inner monologue but sparse on the written dialogue.

○    best time to write: night owl through and through. Sometimes I get started around 8pmish (GMT+1), most of the time I won’t get started before midnight. My most creative and active phase is between 2-4am though tbh.

○    are you like your muse(s): I think I actually am in a lot of ways. I think I’m a bit friendlier/kinder and more polite and empathic, but other than that, I can be a pretty selfish, workaholic bitch as well if I want to be. Also we’re both filmmaking nerds who dig the paranormal, so...🤷

tagged by : @ebonyforged <3 tagging: @innerwar @adeathsentence @thesoulofasurvivor @therebekahmikaelson @bitchheroine and whoever else wants to do the thang

[iron-touch]

Author's Notes: Chapter 32 (The Man in the Picture)

Yay, another chapter with a short turnaround! Don't expect this trend to continue, as I have just enrolled in full time college again and am still getting used to it.

I was very cautious with the opening of Michelle in the changing room. That scene could get very, very creepy with the wrong prose, but I think I managed to make it more endearing than "male gazey."

Speaking of male gaze, Boney! Boney's back. My original plan for Chapter 31 was to end on the scene of Michelle seeing Boney in One Size Fits All, but I decided to change it in order to avoid feeling too similar to Chapter 18 (where the chapter ends with Michelle finding Boney's dead body on the plane). That worked out for the best, too, considering Chapter 31's length.

Reread the phone call Boney has with the Grand Marshal in Chapter 30; this is where he was sent to go. I think you should have an easier time filling in the blanks now.

Michelle having a panic attack and running away was one of the easiest I've ever written in my two years of Iron Touch. I don't know what that says about me.

Midler's back! Remember, High Priestess' user? No? Too bad. My original original outline called for Mariah here instead of Midler, and she would've walked with a gimp as a result of permanent damage she received from her fight with Joseph and Avdol. I changed this for a couple reasons: first of all, I would have had to rework/add onto Bastet in order for her to work in this arc, which I didn't think a lot of people would like. Also, Demonic Heartbreak used her already, so. Y'know. I think Midler fits better in Chicago IX as a SEES member anyways.

With that in mind, it should come as no surprise that Cascada wasn't a part of the original outline, either. High Priestess was originally going to be the "main" enemy Stand of this arc, but I changed that. I cannot stress enough that readers from Fanworks have been really rallying for more original Stands in Iron Touch. This is the best of both worlds—I get my canon characters and you get your OC. Hooray! I like Cascada and Moon River's aesthetics, if nothing else.

I did look it up and yes, bees are native to Egypt.

I feel like it should be pretty obvious what SEES is and how it works by now. If not, please let me know in some way and I can give a more detailed explanation in a future chapter.

In case you didn't know: a green room is an area backstage where actors wait for their cues to go onstage. I've heard different reasons for why they're called that; sometimes it's a simplified English pronunciation of a foreign word, other times it's because actors would throw up there, and I don't know which is accurate. They're not actually green. In smaller theaters (like an amphitheater), green rooms can double as hair and makeup rooms, like what we see here.

I feel like giving Moon River a mermaid theme is a bit of a cop out, but @simpingforcreamsoda said he really liked the design, so I hope you guys do too.

Music references:

Ok so I didn't originally intend for this to be a music reference, but there is a song called The Man in the Picture by The Bobkatz. I chose the title just based on it being a double reference to both Polnareff and Boney. But I listened to the song and I think it fits pretty well so I'm adding it to the playlist. Why not.

Cascada is named after a German dance music act of the same name. (I actually didn't know Cascada was German until now, the more you know)

Cascada's beta name was Moon River at one point, but that honestly did not last long. I'm trying to avoid making OCs with two word names, because having them be one word names is so much easier to write.

Moon River gets its name from a song originally sung by Audrey Hepburn for the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's. The song is so famous and has enough covers that I feel comfortable breaking my "no licensed music" rule (as in, no music originating from other media like video games or musicals) for it. The version I'm using on all the music reference playlists isn't the original Audrey Hepburn version, but rather the Andy Williams cover. I think that version specifically should give some insight as to why I chose this song. If you know, you know ;)

As a side note, "Tiffany Amphitheater" was named after Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Moon River's beta name was Hips Don't Lie, and the Stand's ability was going to be more tied to Cascada's dancing. As the ability changed, I changed the reference as well.

Not a music reference, but Midler's appearance here (specifically the buck teeth) were based off of Winifred Sanderson (played by Bette Midler) from the movie Hocus Pocus. IRL Midler has gone on record to say that this is her favorite film role of all time and she is the only reason that the sequel came out even remotely like it did, so I'm not just arbitrarily choosing a random movie reference here.

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Hello! I hope you are having a good day/night. May I ask for axis and allies plus spain, romano and prussia speaking to their s/o in their native language? Thank you very much! -Humble Anon💕

A very good morning/afternoon/evening to you as well, lovely!

When I began brainstorming these, I kept approaching this ask with the thought in mind that the S/O's first language is not the same as that of the Nation's, and aren't quite completely fluent as of yet. It made it a little bit easier for me to write, and offered me just a little more leeway to daydream. ^_^;

America:

Alfred really only does so when he's super tired, stumbling into the kitchen with bedhead to grab his first five cups of coffee, half-flopping on you as he greets you with a kiss to the cheek- ruined by his yawn- accent stronger than normal as he rumbles out a good morning, asks how you slept. He rambles lightly about his weird-ass dreams, making you smile just from his annunciations. At some point, he remembers to start translating, swapping over to the dialect you're most familiar with mid-sentence.

Canada:

Oddly enough, Matthew plays Language Tag more frequently than Al, but more often than not, it's usually an unrefined Franglish that has always irritated Francis and Arthur. (He enjoys this fact, just a little.) Around you, however, it really only flares up in moments where he's just so overwhelmed and in awe, taken aback by how much he's in love with you. Most of his petnames for you are in English, but those moments where you're both spending a lazy evening in bed, he'll happily shower you with all kinds of cheesey compliments in French, teasingly poking your nose every time you try to get him to translate.

China:

Yao has a habit of slipping back to Chinese on a whim, honestly oblivious to the fact most of the time. You've noticed it gets significantly worse whenever he's stressed, and you've learnt some very colourful nicknames for the Others over the years because of it. Despite his seemingly incessant need to pace while venting, you always manage to coax him into your arms, steadily working your fingers across his back, easy out the knots that had been plaguing him. Meetings always brought him stress, but after a good rant and a few moments of your grounding touch, he's sighing away all remaining agitation, slowly bringing himself back to you and apologising for the slip.

England:

One of Arthur's greater strengths comes in linguistics. While he would much rather prefer a courtship with an English speaker, he's not going to deny himself happiness just because of a silly little language barrier. He generally tries to keep everything on common ground, but his nicknames for you, and some of his more scandalising compliments, are murmurred in English. He always keeps it quiet, an intimacy reserved only for you. There's many a "dearest" and "darling" when first waking up in the morning, a languid greeting for the coming day. (Also, he swears mostly in English, so be careful if you decide to borrow any of his vocabulary.)

France:

Francis never hesitates to prattle in French; it's second nature to him. Sometimes, he'll hop between both yours and his preferred dialects several times in a single sentence. You know it's just part of who he is, and while it can be annoying some days, it is helping you improve your own fluency. There are also moments when he makes you weak, his expression uncharacteristically sincere, hands carefully clasping your own. He hums out a soft phrase, one you still haven't fully translated, leaning closer to caress your jaw, thumb brushing against your cheek, any number of praises passing his lips.

Germany:

Ludvig, since Day One, has tried his best to make sure you're comfortable around him, and part of that is him keeping firmly to the language you are most familiar with. When coming across words he may not be entirely familiar with, or saying a more complicated phrase, his accent may sometimes come out a bit thicker than would be normal. The only time he really slips into German is when he's on the phone with folks from his government. You don't mean to eavesdrop on the latter, but you do enjoy how much deeper his voice tends to get when he's being "professional." Secretly though, you have to admit his voice when he sleeptalks is your favourite of them all. 

Japan:

Kiku constantly, and often unnecessarily, goes out of his way to make sure that you're comfortable, and despite your arguing against it, one of his ways of trying to do so is to only stick the language you both share. Frankly, you love hearing him speak Japanese, even though you really only hear it when he's at the store, and sometimes to the servers during date night. You love how gentle his voice is, his accent adding almost a sweetness to his words. Lately, you've been debating how to tell him that you'd like to hear it more, but for now you savour the little pieces you've collected over the past few months.

Prussia:

You learnt some time ago that Gilbert quietly speaking in German actually helped you fall asleep significantly easier. For that reason, he primarily only does so while either headed to bed, or whenever you're spending an afternoon together in the library. He'll sometimes read to you, but mostly he tends to ramble. You only understand a handful of the things he's saying and assume that he's regaling you with tales of days long past. In reality, he's running through his checklist for car parts he wants to fix, complaining about something stupid Roderich did back in 1648, and most often- when you're on the cusp of sleep, breathing deep and relaxed, his hand resting on your back- he's listing off every single thing he's come to love about you, not as afraid of his vulnerability when you're hardly conscious enough to hear it.

Romano:

Lovino spent too long relearning Italian to ever abandon it, even for your sake. He casually weaves it into regular conversation, the endearments, greetings, exclamations, and nicknames fluidly blending into the ordinary. He figured out quite a while ago that you actually enjoyed his "slip ups," so he's especially generous on date nights, about half of the words he's saying falling around you in his unique dialect. He once told you that you should be grateful, that he was blessing you with "the most beautiful language in the world." And begrudgingly, lost in his smile and the way the candlelight makes his eyes spark, you have to agree.

Russia:

Over time, one of your favourite pastimes with Ivan has becoming hunkering down on a settee by the fireplace, where he'll work on his knitting. The best part of these moments, especially on particularly frigid mornings where you've no obligations, is that Ivan will start to sing to himself, always pieces in Russian. Sometimes they're lullabies he's picked up from the royal families over the years, sometimes they're peasant rhymes he's known since childhood, and on some rare occasions, he'll sing something from an opera he fell in love with back in 1872. He'll often pepper in a few casual words here and there, always with a lightness to it, but you're absolutely addicted to how full his voice sounds when he sings.

Spain:

Antonio is actually the worst of the bunch. He can and will ramble in Spanish, a lot, so much so that some of it has permanently rooted itself into your own vocabulary, some of your replies slipping out without pause these days. He tends to catch onto his slip-ups quickly at least, quickly sliding back into your shared venacular with a quick apology. Still, you'll often hear him singing in Spanish, greeting the plants in Spanish, talking to the cats in Spanish. He's particullarly bad at losing himself whenever he's invested in a football match, or if you happen to catch him irritated about politics. Tonio has taught you quite a few colourful curses over the years, smattered with some day-to-day phrases you've both come to recite by default.

Veneziano:

Feliciano is surprisingly good at sticking to the language you feel most comfortable with, though he's notorious at mucking up the number of syllables in certain words. You have a strong suspicion he does this intentionally, this elongation solely designed to annoy you, especially as he always seems slightly bemused each time he does it. Regardless of how annoying he can be in your language, you do love eavesdropping on his conversations with his brothers, chattering away in Italian, his words and hands moving far too quickly for you to even hope to follow along. There's something so soothing in listening to him speak, even if he is producing 500 words per minute.

Thanks for the ask, Anon! I hope you enjoyed~

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @deacyblues @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore

I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.”

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this���!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

[luxshine]

Y yo a ti, Cas -segunda parte. Because of course Mexican Cas pulled us out of despair and can throw us back in.

Ok, so the last 24 hours have been a bit of a rollercoaster and now I have another post to write about how dubbing is made. Because I love Misha a lot, and I respect him but… the whole rouge translator thing just doesn’t jive with reality.

Now, first of all I want to make a disclaimer: I do not believe that there’s a conspiracy to keep Dean closeted and away from Castiel. That makes absolutely no sense, no matter how you slice it. Among other things, conspiracy implies intent, and I really doubt the CW, Warner Bros and everyone involved in the marketing choices cares that much. At most, I think that there was a misunderstanding of marketing/PR and now people are doubling down on trying to pretend it didn’t happen. But a conspiracy? Nope. This isn’t THAT important, and it would require a LOT of people involved to make things work.

Which is precisely why the rouge translator thing doesn’t work. Because you would need a conspiracy to MAKE Destiel canon in order for it to be real.

Second: As I write this, I still don’t have an answer from the voice actors. But rest assured, WHEN they reply (or we can organize a panel so YOU guys can ask directly), I will tell you the absolute truth. If I am wrong with my assumptions, and it WAS a rouge translator, I will let you know, and I will admit I was wrong. And if it was from the audio (say, a Jensen adlib) or the actual script? I will also let you know.

Third: I don’t doubt that Misha REALLY believes the rogue translator thing, if it was told to him by TPTB. There’s no reason to believe he knows how dubbing works in Mexico, nor how many people check the final product. Or that he even watched the episode, instead of believing it was a fan clip. Also, I respect him immensely and I don’t want any hate send his way.

That said, let’s go into how dubbing works, again.

For the sake of argument, I will start with the idea that yes, there was a “Rogue translator” who decided that THIS was the perfect moment to make Destiel canon. Not, say, Season 8 when he could have translated an “I need you” from Dean into an “I love you” when the god tablet thing happened, not in season 12, or during the purgatory prayers. No, the best moment was two episodes before the finale, when he had to know that Cas was not coming back. 

And yes, the translator knew Cas was not coming back because when we translate series, we get them in packages of 5 episodes or more at the time. So they must have had 15x16 to 15x21 (The interview special) all together. So they knew that this was Cas’s exit from the series.

Now, in my previous post I said how in the old times, we used vhs tapes and paper copies of the shooting scripts (when they were available that was not always). Now a days, we get the video file and a word document (if we’re lucky. If not, we make the word file). Translate everything. Go through it AGAIN to make sure the lip sync matches and that we don’t have huge speeches when there’s a small window of time to say the speech because of the language differences. Check that we didn’t accidentally used a slang word that only Mexico would understand. If the show is not PG-13, make sure our swearwords are not too bad or too localized. THEN we send it to the studio, which prints about four copies of the script and hands it,and the video, to the Dub director.

The dub director then goes and re-watches every episode, while checking the script. Some directors don’t speak the language, so they’re just checking cadence, time, and the damned lip sync. (And if you, as a translator, don’t match the lip sync? You are either back to training or out of a word if you get too many strikes). So sure, you could slip a change of line there, IF the director doesn’t speak German, or Japanese, or Hindi.

But almost every single dub director speaks English. So a change from “Don’t do this, Cas” to “And I, you, Cas” would be noticed then and there, and changed to the right line. Which means that, for the rogue translator thing to work, we’d have to add also a rogue dub director.

And honestly, do you see a professional dub director with more than 15 years of experience (because you don’t give a series to a newbie, and Supernatural had the same dub director for all it’s run) risking his job for ONE line?

Anyway, in the times before the plague dub actors were called in groups to the study to record, in order to save audio tracks. So, for example, all the Inner Senshi would record together when doing Sailor Moon, and I assume in Supernatural, Sam and Dean’s lines would also be recorded together, while Dean and Cas might have been or not. Depending on times and so on. So you’d had at least 3 people in the studio: Dean’s VA, the dub director and the sound technician. ALL of them checking what was being said, what was in the script, and listening to the original audio.

Some actors would also make corrections to the script there, making some lines easier to read, and, again, checking those damn lip letters (Can you tell I HATE the lip letter thing?) . I remember fondly the VA for Sailor Jupiter, Araceli de Leon (RIP), who was known as “The Corrector”, since she would go through ALL the scripts for everyone with a red pen. The day I handed a script she didn’t find any corrections, I was jumping out of joy. So if 15x18 was recorded AT the dubbing studio? Someone who knew English could’ve caught the difference between the “Don’t do this” and the “And I you”, making it harder for our rogue translator to go unnoticed.

But let’s say it was recorded post-quarantine, when voice actors work alone at home, in their own private sound studios. I have no idea if they would have the director at hand through zoom, but I assume so. In any case, the VA would STILL have the original audio to know how the lines were said, and after 4 years of dubbing Dean Winchester, I will assume that the VA knows at the very least a little bit of English so if his script said “And I, you Cas” but he heard Jensen say “Don’t do it, Cas”, he would’ve made a correction there.

That’s now two people who would have to ignore the rouge translator’s actions, and even help them, in order for this theory to work.

And then the audio goes back to the director, who checks it again, makes sure it is lip synced and well acted, and sent to the audio technician who mixes it all, and now we have a THIRD person who could’ve said “Hey… uhm… this line? Is not what it says in the original” and by this time, we’d have to have a conspiracy to keep that “And I, you, Cas” in the final product.

Which brings me to person number four: Once the dubbing is done? It’s reviewed by the client (In this case, WB Latam), who gives the final say and CAN ask for redubs if necessary.

Story time. When I was doing this for a living, I got a series that had the WEIRDEST line ever. A line that made me triple check I was hearing things right (because it was a damn adlib that I couldn’t check with the script)

It was: “I’ve been listening to jazz even since I was a sperm swimming in my father’s testicles”.

So yeah.

I was a pro, so I didn’t censor it or change it and send it as it was to the director. Who OF COURSE called me and asked “Are you 100% sure that’s the line?” (This was in Japanese, and he didn’t speak Japanese. He trusted me). And I said “yeah, but if you need to change it, we can find another way to say “I’ve been a Jazz fan since before I was born”. “ He, Jack bless him, said “Nah. If that’s the original, let’s keep the original”.

The client was NOT amused and we had to change it in the final product.

Now, this was a throw away line by a secondary character that never appeared again in the series, in a small scene that probably only I remember. And the client still said “Nope, change that”. I’d like to believe that a line that changes the relationship between two main characters would have the same, if not more, scrutiny from TPTB.

Which makes now four people who would have had to either ignore the actions of the rogue translator, or actively participate in a conspiracy to make Destiel Latam canon.

Which, I dunno about you, sounds like way too much effort for something that was going to last for exactly one second before Cas got sucked into the Empty.

Someone made a mistake? Probably. But I am more willing to bet it was whoever sent the master video file to the studio than the dub studio, if that line wasn’t supposed to be there.

[schleierkauz]

Q&A with Cornelia Funke - 05.07.2021

You guys probably know the drill by now. I’ve sorted it into topics to make it easier to read, have fun!

Mirrorworld

Q: What happened during Will’s and Nerron’s travels between the 3rd and 4th book?

A: Cornelia could spend hours thinking about that, figuring out the things they tell her and the things they don’t. She’ll keep the question in mind because she would also like to know the answer.

Bookstore Guy: “Maybe whatever they did is too... private to tell you?” (...  👀) Cornelia: “Very possible.” (.......  👀) “Dustfinger is like that, too, he barely ever wants to talk to me.”

Q: Do the residents of Ink-/Mirrorworld have a name for their world, like how we call our planet “Earth”?

A: Cornelia thinks that’s an excellent question and since their world is very similar to ours, the name would probably be similar as well. Gaia, maybe?

Inkworld

Q: Will we learn more about the Black Prince’s younger sisters in the new book?

A: Cornelia says “Ooohhhh!” and writes it down. She just started working on TCoR chapters again, so she’s been collecting ideas and thanks us for all the suggestions.

Q: Are there any magical items in the Inkworld that no one has found yet?

A: The Inkworld and the Mirrorworld are the same, so yes, there are. Inkheart (the book) itself is magical and so is the fire. Fenoglio has only seen a very small part of the Inkworld and he thinks that’s all there is but in TCoR we will discover new places that will make the connection very clear.

Q: What would Rosanna’s path have been like, had she lived? Perhaps she would have taken after her father?

A: Cornelia loves the idea and agrees that Rosanna probably would have shared many traits with Dustfinger. But, hers was a life unlived... Perhaps she will still take after Dustfinger in her next life?

Q: Could the Black Prince and Robin Hood be the same person?

A: No, definitely not. Robin Hood has a very anglo-saxon, white background; the Prince is black and from Africa. He is very different from Robin Hood as a person. He didn't used to be royalty or anything like that, he grew up in poverty... But they do share similar goals!

Q: Has Brianna shared what happened to her after the events of Inkdeath?

A: Not really, not yet. Cornelia is starting to discover some things but it takes a lot of time. Brianna is a character who likes to hide.

- Cornelia is realising that there is a lot of interest from readers regarding the story about Dustfinger’s and the Black Prince’s childhood/youth and she made a note to work on that asap

Other Books

Q: How long did it take to finish the new Dragon Rider book, Curse of Aurelia?

A: Cornelia started in winter 2018 while she was evacuated due to the fires. She’s been working on it on and off ever since and estimates it’s been 14 months of pure research and writing.

Because she wrote it in English but the publishing date for Germany was rescheduled to be earlier than originally planned, there’s been a lot of very complicated translation work. Right now she’s waiting for feedback from the Chumash tribe because she used elements and characters from some of their stories and they’re making sure she didn’t mess anything up.

Q: Why are Frieda and Fred a couple now, it’s heartbreaking!

A (and I’m just gonna quote Cornelia directly here): “No no no. Listen. There’s no need for broken hearts. It’s been 12 years and Sprotte and Fred split up pretty peacefully at some point in the past. Part of the reason for that was that Sprotte went to New Zealand and Fred wanted to stay in Germany.

Things like that happen all the time, despite all the love in the world. Take it from someone who’s 62 years old by now and who has lived many different forms of love. Also, Sprotte is not upset at all and she’s fallen in love with someone else- you’ll see. You already know the person. It’s a beautiful and passionate lovestory.

Fred and Frieda meanwhile are happy that Sprotte is there because she knows Fred so well that she can give them good advice. And I think it’s a beautiful thing when people who were once in love with each other can still be friends afterwards, even though the romance may not work out anymore. No need for broken hearts, really.”

Q: Does Cornelia come up with titles for her books at the beginning of the writing process or does it take more time? A: Depends on the book and the language she’s writing in

- Cornelia’s new book about letters and herbs is almost finished. She’s still unsure about the title - she’d like to include the word “kingdom” but that same word in german (”Königreich”) carries a lot of male energy which doesn’t fit the story

Q: What’s the biggest difference between Pan’s Labyrinth the film and Cornelia’s book?

A: Cornelia hopes there is no “biggest difference” because she tried to keep things canon compliant. But he did add short stories to give some characters a background story. Otherwise, she didn’t feel it was her place to mess with a perfect story.

Misc.

- The stream started with a ten minute tour of the bookstore and the bridge it stands on while Cornelia just silently sat there

...and I thought that was pretty funny. My favorite quote: “This house was build in 1567, so... it’s pretty new.”

- They are going to give away signed bookmarks and stuff again once Cornelia is settled in Italy

Q: Does Cornelia bind her own notebooks?

A: No, but she would like to. The botebook she uses for TCoR was made by a bookbinder in Scotland, usually she just uses moleskin hardcovers.

Q: Is Cornelia always satisfied with translations of her work?

A: Absolutely not, but she thinks a perfect translation is impossible. You always have to make compromises.

- Cornelia was recently invited to a village that belongs to the Chumash tribe and got to feed their sacred fire, a deeply touching experience she struggles to put into words

Q: What’s Cornelia’s favorite language to write in?

A: She can’t answer that because it depends on the book. For example, she couldn’t write about the Inkworld or the Mirrorworld in English, it wouldn’t fit. Writing Dragon Rider in English was fun, though, because the English language often feels “lighter” than German.

- Cornelia has no idea which language she dreams in

- Any time Cornelia reads that men and women can’t be friends she wants to slap the person who wrote it because it’s such annoying nonsense

- Minors will be able to stay at the farm in Italy as long as they’re self-reliant because Cornelia doesn’t have time to be anyone’s mom. There’s also always the Spiegelhof in Germany, which would be an easier option.

- Cornelia wants to invite environmental activist to her farm as well as artists

- Cornelia thinks parents should have more time to get to know their children before deciding on a name for them

- Cornelia firmly believes in reincarnation but isn’t sure why

...Aaand that’s it for now! Right now it’s uncertain when the next stream will happen, maybe in August, maybe September or maybe even October. We’ll see. I hope you enjoyed! :)

[readersperspective]

Writing Advice Bilingual Characters

As some of you (who read my reviews) already might have noticed, I am bilingual myself. Sadly, multilingual people do not get represented well a lot in media, so yeah... some advice for writing them. It will certainly not capture every aspect of being bilingual, but it might give you a first idea.

There are different ways to be multilingual.

People who grew up with more than one native language will almost certainly speak all of them fluently. Most of them have two (their parents’ language and their country’s language, or the language of one parent and of the other) but I also know a family where the children grew up with four native languages (the mother speaks Portuguese, the father Italian, they talk to each other in English, and live in Germany, where the children grew up)

Some people speak two or more languages, but cannot write all of them - especially when the alphabets are not the same, for example English and Russian or Arabic. This affects mostly children of immigrants.

Some people can read and write a language quite well, but are not good at speaking or listening comprehension. Those people often learned the language at school with a bad teacher or by themselves with books and apps.

Some people, again mostly children and grandchildren of immigrants, can read and understand a language, but don’t speak it. Mostly, the parents decided to not teach the child the language, and they learned it themselves by listening to their parents talk to relatives.

Confidence can play a big role in this. I understand the dialect of my grandparents without a problem, but I would never try to speak it. I can’t even imagine forming those words with my mouth, and it would sound terrible.

People who learnt a language at school can reach completely different levels of that language. I started learning English at age 6 and am completely fluent by now. Other people in my class barely understand more than easy conversations in English.

Most people will do their very best to hide their accents.

If the person is not a native speaker, but fluent in a language, their accent will be a mix of whatever they can find at the moment. Media is a big influence in that.

Since I watch more British than American TV, my accent sounds a bit british, too. When I watched “Call the Midwife”, I often even unconciously copy the accent of Laura Main. I don’t know why her, but my brain just liked it, I guess.

Also, we will use words, phrases and sentence structures from so many different sources.

People who learnt English through the internet (aka most of the younger generation) will have problems to not use swear words when actually being in Great Britain or America. They just do not have the weight for us, since on the internet they get used all the time.

I have never in my whole live heard a multilingual person switch languages mid-sentence on accident.

We will do it on purpose, though, if the other part of the conversation understands both languages.

Also, we will maybe say the word in another language if we forget the meaning.

Multilingual people that are not natives in the language they usually use in their day-to-day life (immigrants, for example) will often count and calculate in their native language. For example at a restaurant where they calculate the price in their head, they will probably do it in their native language.

Conversations with multiple multilingual people can be very different.

If one person only understands one language, they will probably try to include that person by speaking the language they share. I can say from experience, though, that if eight native Germans that have varying levels of English language skills will sit together with one introverted Turkish person with medium English language skills, they will go back to German quite often. It’s not nice, but sadly natural.

In general, people will try to speak in their native language if possible. You can take two people that share a native language and also both speak English and let them walk around in London - they will probably speak their native language, no matter how well they speak English.

Multilingual people that share multiple languages will switch on purpose when they feel like they can express their thoughts better in the other language.

Many languages have taken words from English.

Especially young people take a lot of English filler words and phrases (or insults) and put them into their native language. “Help, mein Deutschlehrer überfordert uns mit Hausaufgaben, like, what the fuck, glaubt der wir haben nichts besseres zu tun?” Is a sentence you would absolutely hear from a German student.

Many young people that don’t live in Great Britain or America will not use these words and phrases around their parents. First of all, our parents often do not speak English as well as we do, but more importantly, our parents do not like us using English instead of ur native language.

Many professions nowadays have an English name, I don’t know why. What used to be a Hausmeister is now a Facility Manager. The longer the English phrase for your profession, the more likely you will not be taken serious by older people.

Once you have more than one native language, you learn new languages more easily, for some reason. I know a girl that speaks 7 languages, at age 20, 5 of them fluently.

"You speak English quite well” or phrases like that said by a native speaker can be the best compliment ever, or more uncomfortable than nice.

When you are translating for your family and hear that sentence, it is super nice.

When you are only speaking English, that sentence indicates that your accent is still heavy. You do not pass as a native speaker.

When you are a native speaker, that sentence is just weird.

You can indentify the people that learnt a language through reading by giving them words that are pronounced untypically.

For years I thought “precious” (a word that is heavily used on the internet, especially in fan communities, but not that much in school) was pronounces pree-ci-ous. I was shocked when I heard it for the first time.

There are situations where even quite fluent non-native speakers will not be able to understand or talk in their second language.

The first few minutes after standing up (although that can change when the person is really fluent)

When they are in great pain

When they are in great fear

When they are under great stress

Sometimes even when they did not use that language in the last few days

Translating in realtime is terribly hard and will fuck your head. When I was on holiday with my parents, I often had to read the information signs in museums or at sights for them and translate. It’s easier when you first read the text and then summarise it in another language, but trying to translate it sentence by sentence is painful and you will question your abilities in both languages.

This gets just more horrible when under pressure. While we were in England, a visibly stressed young woman came to us and asked us if we had 5 pounds, she had lost some money she needed to take the train back home. I repeated her sentence to my father. In English.

Also sorry to the poor worker at McDonalds who I talked English to while speaking German to my English exchange student.

People abroad will absolutely become friends with every person that they hear speaking their language. While being in London, we overheard a man talking to his son in German about taking a photo, and I immediately asked (in German) if I should take a photo of both of them together. We talked for fifteen minutes after that, even though we had never met before.

On that note, in tourist citys the people that try to sell things to tourists usually speak a lot of languages enough to say things like “Oh, I speak a bit of [language], too, but not well. Didn’t pay enough attention in school. You look like nice people.” Makes it so easy to sell things.

Idioms are literally hell. Best example has been in the news currently, with Greta Thunberg literally translating a Swedish idiom in a tweet not realising that “putting someone against a wall” means something totally different in English. 

Idioms will be hell for you as a writer, too, though, as long as you do not fluently speak both of the languages or at least one of them is fictional, because it’s quite easy to mess up if you use idioms that jus aren’t normally used by people speaking that language.

Bilingual puns are amazing, but sadly rare.

Those are the things I thought of first... Maybe you can find some ideas or inspiration there for your characters, too. The best thing of course is to let someone proof-read your character if you are uncertain, but this hopefully already helped you a bit!

[in-arlathan]

Writing Tag Game

Yeah, another writing tag game! I love these! Thank you @noire-pandora for tagging me! ♥

Leaving some for @johaeryslavellan, @serial-chillr, @mogwaei, @faerieavalon, @midnightprelude, @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, @elveny and @kunstpause if you want to do this. No pressure, as always.

Let's get to it...

________

How many works do you have on AO3?

19 works

What’s your total AO3 word count?

230,920 words

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Running With The Halla – 64 kudos

The Rebel's Ascension – 50 kudos

These Stolen Moments – 42 kudos

To Heal The Hurt – 33 kudos

A Change of Heart – 24 kudos

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I aim to respond to every single comment I get, whether they are a string of emojis or a sprawling in-depth analysis of the chapter. Knowing that someone was moved by my words to such a degree that they leave a comment is one of the best things about posting my work online and I want those people to know that their reaction is valued. Like, a lot.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Eh, all of them? By this point, I'm not sure if I can even write anything but angsty monstrosities. I feel like all of my stuff ends on a grimdark to bittersweet note. Right now, I'd say "The Scar" is the grimmest Dragon Age fic I've written so far. But "To Heal The Hurt" comes pretty dang close.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Considering that even my "happy" fics always have this angsty undertone, I'd say "What Friends Are For" is pretty chill and happy despite the Solavellan heartache. Also, "Love In Small Secret Spaces" only exists because I wanted to write smut and fluff for Solas and my ancient elvhen girl Felani, so that one is quite happy as well.

Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Oh gosh, let me rack my brain. I think there was a very weird Star Wars/Lord of the Rings crossover I wrote with a friend of mine. That must have been absolute ages ago! I haven't done crossovers since.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I used to get quite a bit of hate back in the day when I started out posting my work online. There were mostly people trying to take me down a notch because they thought I was aggrandizing myself by including obscure tidbits from the lore of the respective fandom in my fics. Honestly, there was one person who was particularly upset that I loved the Silmarillion and based my fics on it. It was insane. These days, however, things are blessedly quiet and I'm very happy about that!

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do, but I almost didn't. It was due to the encouragement by a few mutual writers that I gave it a try and I came to enjoy it in a way. If I had to describe it, I'd say the smut I write is very "touchy-feely". I always aim to make the scenes steamy but they always end up pretty soft and tender. I'm all about those emotions, I guess? I know it's not for everyone, but I enjoy writing all of this regardless.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Gosh, no. But I got accused of having stolen a fic idea once. Phew, that was wild!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, not really. I did try to improve my English by translating one of my own works from German to English, but I never finished that and I don't think it counts. Also, writing in English straight away was so much easier in the end!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I've co-written lots of stuff, fics and original works! My best friend was into writing as well, so we ended up writing a bunch of stuff together. We even wrote this 15,000 word HP crack fic one night during the summer holidays. Ah, I miss those days sometimes! But: After all those years, I'm actually co-writing something again with another writer I admire. We haven't started posting, but the constant back and forth has been a blessing upon my life, let me tell you.

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

If you are here, you know that I adore Solavellan. I do have a lot of other ships I enjoy though, so I don't consider this to be my "all-time favorite". I never really had one, coming to think of it. My interests shift too often for that.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I do hope I get to finish all the Dragon Age fics that are currently work in progress. Fingers crossed for that! But there is a metric ton of fics I wrote in the past 20 years that I abandoned, many of which I still think about.

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and description. And maybe character introspection. I do love to play around with a character's tone of voice in the prose.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Perfectionism, impatience and constantly thinking about what people will think of me and my work. I try to write stuff that I personally enjoy, but there is always a small voice in my head that urges me to consider a reader's viewpoint. Maybe that is because I really enjoy entertaining people. I want them to have a good time and I'm always afraid that I will let them down.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I'm in absolute awe of people who do speak more than two languages and are able to incorporate that knowledge into their work. If it's a fictional language like elvhen in Dragon Age, I'm astounded by what some people do with that language because I can't get behind the logic of it. But ultimately, if I'm being brutally honest, I'm a bit indecisive about it. I enjoy a few words or phrases that are tossed into the story to indicate a different language or portray a culture or highlight something, but I usually skip right to the English transcription of fantasy languages (at least in a written format). Trying to discern any meaning from the elvhen sentences clogs up something in my brain matter, I'm afraid, and it puts me out of the moment completely. That's why I tend to skip those bits, to keep enjoying the story that is being told. Ah dear, when did I get the attention span of a goldfish?

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Sailor Moon. Yes, I'm ancient.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

To nobody's surprise: "The Rebel's Ascension". There are quite a few scenes in that story that were super difficult to write, but going back and rereading older chapters always gives me so much joy and pride. It's not a perfect story, but it's the best one I've written until now.

[olderthannetfic]

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

What do I mean about them being similar?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

[historic-old-guard-lover]

How many languages and which of them would the cast speak if we’re going to be completely historically accurate ?

This a great question that I can’t quite answer, but I spent six hours researching to give it a shot. I think that there’s a broad range of plausible languages and you’ve got leeway to choose how many. The first part is that different people have different affinities for languages. Some people can speak ten different languages fluently (or near-fluency), while others will struggle juggling three different ones in their brains. The range in the languages can affect this, too: it’s easy to mess up between similar languages. I personally have trouble speaking Spanish because in the middle of the sentence, I’ll drop a French word without even realizing it. The same thing doesn’t happen to me in other languages like German, though. By the same token as I’ve discussed before, similar languages are easier to learn. Going from English to Russian with the Cyrillic alphabet? More difficult than English to French, which makes up about a third of modern English. These are languages that are still in the same family (Proto-Indo-European, PIE), though, so it holds nothing to the difficulty of going from English to a language like Mandarin.

I’m breaking this answer into two parts: 1) how many?; 2) which ones? and I’m going to get carried away because I’m me so it’s below the break to spare you if this comes across your dash and you’re not a nerd...

PART 1: What’s a realistic number for them to speak?

I think that each member of the old guard probably has a certain number of languages which they’re comfortable with, a few more that they can understand/get by in, and a few that they may only know phrases from. The number of each isn’t the same for everyone. The average human being is able to speak ~1.5 languages. The most talented polyglots can speak upwards of 50 languages, maybe one guy even spoke 65 (mostly I want to mention he loved translating the phrase “kiss my ass”). This hyperpolyglot, Kreb aka “Kiss My Ass” Stan, had his brain dissected after his death and it showed a lot of “abnormalities”. That leads neuroscientists and me to believe that being able to study and learn 65 languages is either 1) a major skill that rewired his brain because he was flexing it so much; or 2) very abnormal and facilitated by his brain differences. Since their powers don’t make them stop being limited by the human brain (they can forget), I would say that it is unlikely that one of them is fluent/near fluent/comfortable in more than ~65 languages.

Getting past twelve languages is considered a feat, so I think only Andy, Quynh, Nicky, and Joe could be anywhere near the upper-bounds of languages. Remember, these hyperpolyglots spend their entire lives studying languages and often need refreshers. The members of the Old Guard don’t have the luxury of reading grammar books all day, and they also have to remember a bunch of combat training. You can argue that a lot of fighting is “muscle memory” aka located in the cerebellum and nowhere near language processing areas, but there’s still things like math, navigation, etc. that they need to remember. I doubt they have a list of their safe houses just lying around. The older members can speak more languages by virtue of being around longer and having that time to learn, but if we’re being realistic they should probably speak no more than ~45-55 languages comfortably. This doesn’t mean that they only *know* that many, but the other languages would be more like bad high school Spanish in America than able to wax poetic. Aside: that Joe is able to be poetic in what is AT LEAST his fourth or so language is very impressive and we should talk about that more.

How Many Each Member is Maximally Proficient In/Knowledgeable Of at the end of the film/Opening Fire comics run:

Lykon (comics): proficient in ~15, knowledgeable of ~30*

Lykon (movies): proficient in ~45, knowledgeable of ~80*

Andy: proficient in ~50, knowledgeable of ~100**

Quynh | Noriko: proficient in ~51, knowledgeable of ~90**

Joe: proficient in ~30, knowledgeable of ~80

Nicky: proficient in ~30, knowledgeable of ~80

Booker: proficient in ~10, knowledgeable of ~30

Nile: proficient in ~2 (maybe 3), knowledgeable of ~5

*In the comics, he is younger than Andy and Quynh and I assume he dies young. In the movie, it is strongly implied that he was the oldest. The reason why his numbers are not larger, however, is because at some point there were fewer languages as humanity had not dispersed as much as it eventually did. He’s also long before written language which facilitates learning for most people. RIP Lykon.

**I’m not saying that Quynh is smarter than Andy, just that she comes after written language and it should be slightly easier for her to pick things up. I’m giving Andy access to more languages, however, because PIE alone covers Europe, Central Asia, and South Asia. More on this later.

PART 2: Which languages would each of them speak?

I’ve covered this question a little in a previous post that was broadly about proto-indo-european/Andy-centric (check it out if you want), but I’ll give a broader survey of each character here.

A Quick Aside on Lykon: We don’t know enough about this character, and the fact that the comics and movie diverge so sharply does not help at all. I’m going to headcannon that he was from Eastern Africa, where most archaeologists agree that modern humans first appeared in the Horn of Africa aka modern Ethiopia and Somolia and neighbors, and predates Andy by ~3,000 years. For future purposes below and assuming a birth date for Andy in the range ~5,000BCE - 4,000BCE, this puts his birth at around ~8,000BCE - 7,000BCE. This is wild speculation, however. Maybe the early immortals should be spaced by warfare types (Stone Age, Bronze, Iron, Steel?) or maybe they pop up once a cultural region reaches a certain historic point or maybe they just sorta pop up and then live for six or seven thousands years. I’m working off the last assumption because it’s the simplest. The only thing I’m certain of is that Greg Rucka probably didn’t sit down and think this pattern through. If I’m wrong, oh well. I’m mad at him for all his historical inaccuracies. With dating from ~8,000BCE - 7,000BCE, I’m having trouble finding a name for the cultures that scientists/historians know were living there at the time. It’s probably because the region has been continually occupied since the first humans, which one can safely assume makes abandoned and undisturbed sites hard to fine.

A Quick Aside on Quynh | Noriko: I like the film better, so I’ll be working with Quynh. If there’s enough interest, I can add on Japanese for Noriko. I’m going to date Quynh to be ~1,500 years after Andy (maybe this should be the new date system, before Andy “BA” and after Andy “AA”). This puts her in the time range of ~3,500BCE - 2,500BCE which could place her in either the Đa Bút neolithic culture of modern-day Vietnam or the Phùng Nguyên bronze age culture of modern-day Vietnam. Those names are archaeological in nature, based on the location where sites have been found and dated to those ranges.

Other Origins: Because we have diverging cannons, I’m going to just state the backgrounds that I’ve assigned. Joe is from 1066CE with a background in the Arab-controlled Maghreb (more specifically, modern-day Tunisia and Northern Algeria). Nicky is from 1069CE with a background from the Italian maritime republic and city-state of Genoa. Booker is from 1770 southern France. Nile is from 1994 Chicago in the United States. Andy is from ~5,000BCE - 4,000BCE in the Caucasus (modern-day Georgia and Azerbaijan) or the South Western Eurasian Steppes, probably the Shulaveri-Shomu culture assuming that location.

The first language everyone learned, their “mother tongue” or “native language” is one that they definitely speak. It’s the language that they think in and would be hard-pressed to lose. This even includes now-dead languages, because, again, it’s the one that they learned to think with. Of course, it is possible to lose a language when you have no one to speak it with if you wanted to do something tragic, but I think that these things are too deeply ingrained for it it to happen by accident.

What Each One’s First Language Would Be:

Nile: American English, possibly African-American Vernacular English (AAVE) at home

Booker: Provençal/Occitan, possibly “standard French” (school and other places outside the home)

Nicky: Genoese Ligurian/Zeneize

Joe: Tunisian Derja/Tunisian Arabic/Tunisian, and possibly one of the dialects of the native Zenati language group based on where more precisely you place him

Quynh: Proto-Viet–Muong (which isn’t well documented because it’s so old)

Andy: Proto-Indo-European (PIE), but if you’re curious the Classical Scythian Language for which she is probably named is only off by a factor of 10 (4000 vs 400 BCE) *cue distressed sighing*

Lykon: Proto-Cushitic (also suffering a lack of documentation from being old as heck)

Other than their first languages, what else they learn depends on where they go. People learned languages back then for the same reasons that they do today: to communicate (and to read, after the invention of writing). 

Additional Confirmed or Likely Cannon Languages:

Nile: Spanish because of the American school system for sure. French is listed on the IG account, but she probably speaks only Spanish or French to a degree of fluency, definitely one better than the other. Very Basic Pashto, which we see her use some obviously-memorized phrases with in the film.

Booker: The IG promo things asserts that he knows (modern, standard) Italian and Greek. Why not? He also probably knows Spanish depending on where more specifically in southern France he is from. He’s probably also picked up on at least Very Basic Arabic from Joe and Nicky, but actually learning the language would take commitment from him. He also clearly speaks English.

Nicky: Other Italian dialects, and it would be fairly easy for him to have picked up modern Italian. He definitely reads Latin. If he was from a wealthy family, he probably also speaks Greek. If he was from a trading family, he probably speaks the trading pidgin of Sabir. The IG account confirms Arabic (vague, but okay I’ll be generous and say modern standard Arabic) and Romanche (they meant to write Romansh). I think Romansh is poorly chosen to characterize him in Northern Italy, but I’m feeling generous. He also clearly speaks English.

Joe: He definitely speaks standard Arabic to have been able to communicate with other Arabic-speakers in Jerusalem.  Genoese Ligurian/Zeneize because of the love of his life, which also means he probably picked up modern Italian at some point. The IG account confirms Farsi (they call it “Persian” *cue screaming*), which works if he was a merchant who traveled far to eastward on the Silk Road...and if you go with the comic cannon makes more sense. I’m going to say that he speaks the Mediterranean trading pidgin Sabir because of his location in Tunisia. If he was from a wealthy merchant family and could afford schooling, he probably learned Greek and maybe also Latin. There’s a good chance that he knows conversational-levels of other native Zenati languages thanks to colonialism discouraging their usage. He also clearly speaks English.

Quynh: We don’t actually know if she speaks English, but it’s safe to assume she does speak at least some of it. She’s probably learned Vietnamese and Mường because of her mastery of their proto-language. Because I see her returning to modern-day Vietnam to fight the Chinese colonization, I think that she might know Cantonese or Mandarin. Based on her travels with Andy, I’d like to propose Greek, Latin, and Mongolian. I’m sure that Andy and her share a language, but who knows which one they were each speaking when they met!

Andy: The IG account says “all,” but I’ve discussed this elsewhere (*major eye rolling*). She almost certainly picked up Scythian and Greek based on her chosen name. Latin isn’t as likely as you’d think, but is possible. I’d like to think that she’s also partial to learning Russian (or some earlier form of the language), Mongolian, and Armenian. Based on her travels with Quynh, I imagine that she speaks Cantonese or Mandarin and Vietnamese or Mu’o’ng. There is some mystery language shared with Quynh, too. She also clearly speaks English.

Lykon: I really don’t know enough about him to hazard any guesses. He should share at least one language in common with Andy and Quynh. If his date of death is ~2,000- 1,000 BCE like I’m supposing, there’s a good chance that he only speaks one or two currently-named languages. Sorry, OP.

[bluesockets]

HUGO WEIDERMANN ( HE/HIM ) is a CIS MALE, THIRTY-SEVEN year old THERAPIST & PSYCHIATRIST who has been living in Moorbrooke for TWO YEARS. They were born on MARCH 5 and right now, they are currently residing in REDGRAVE GROVE. It has been said that they look suspiciously like MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER and if they had to choose a song to describe themselves, they would choose HEAVY BALLOON by FIONA APPLE. ( ox, 21+, cst, he/him )

❮ it grows relentless like the teeth of a rat it's just got to keep on gnawing at me !! ❯ TW : ILLNESS, DRINKING MENT. !

full name : hugo weidermann. nicknames : he actually hates most derivatives of his name. calling him ‘huey’ is a one way ticket to getting your number blocked. pronouns : he/him. age : thirty-seven. date of birth : march 5, 1984. zodiac : pisces. gender : cis male. sexuality : gay. hometown : munich, germany. current residence : redgrave grove. languages spoken : german + english.

BIO !

—— hugo was born into a moderately wealthy family right in the middle of munich, germany. his parents pushed a lot of their #grindset on him and his baby sister. unfortunately for him, this meant a future of perfectionism and unrelenting gifted kid syndrome. he sacrificed a lot of his social needs for grades early in his life and after a while, it all became second nature. once in a blue moon he’d talk to his peers in scouting but he’d stutter, stumble over his words, and never quite found the right things to say. figuring himself a lost cause, he studied. he helped his mom with the garden. maybe occasionally played half life or duke nukem on the family computer. all of this dedication to perfection made him a shoe-in for harvard university, all the way over in the united states. his parents, father especially, encouraged the idea. that was all he needed to get himself on a plane to massachusetts. he was just glad his family could afford frequent flights back home, in case everything went to shit. —— when he first landed, hugo thought he’d only be in the states for school, but he ended up liking it a lot more than he thought he would. after finishing school and taking up a residency in downtown boston, he moved to new york. he made a good amount of money, was able to keep in touch with the few friends he met in college, and even secured a few long term relationships along the way. he hit his thirties and finally felt that he reached a point of contentment. this ... didn’t last long. —— right before he was able to buy his first house in the city he fell ill and, after seeing more doctors than he could count on both hands and feet, was diagnosed with lupus and rheumatoid arthritis. this wasn’t something he thought he was going to be able to handle by himself, so his sister came down from her home in germany to assist him with his daily needs. the two of them definitely couldn’t afford new york and medical bills on hugo’s salary alone, which led them to pack their bags and head to ( what his sister considered ) the next best option. moorbrooke, maine !! he wasn’t too stoked about this. he’d be leaving most of his support system behind and he knew absolutely nothing about the area, but his sister found a job there and it was a good place for him to start a private practice of his own. he’s still struggling over the loss of independence and the complete change from where he was in life before, but he’s coping ! after spending a lot of time inside and away from the people of moorbroke, he finally thinks he might be ready to actually make a life here. even if he wasn’t, his sister isn’t gonna move the two of them any time soon.

TIDBITS !

he’s a very nice dude and will totally engage with people, he just cannot bring himself to let his walls down. you really gotta know hugo well if you wanna have a conversation about anything serious without him deflecting the whole damn time.

his accent .... god rest his soul. he’s been living here for 20 years and sometimes people still need to take a second to understand him. especially when he drinks. two beers in and the man needs a translator.

speaking of drinking, he doesn’t do it often, and he can’t hold his liquor. i’d actually advise people to never give him alcohol. like, ever.

was on the rowing team in college. please don’t ask him about it. he’ll talk about it forever.

if it weren’t for his dog and his bees he’d be at rock bottom. outside of writing ( which i will get to in a jiffy ), beekeeping is his favorite hobby. ask him nicely and he might give you a jar of honey.

before coming down with lupus and RA he wrote two very boring books for psychiatrists and psychiatrists only. now that his focus has shifted away from his career a little bit, he’s in the middle of writing a poetry collection.

you will find this man at every bookstore in a 10 mile radius. he can’t be in the sun for too long so instead he likes to look at stuff he promises himself he won’t buy and then buys it anyway.

CONNECTIONS !

clients

he’s got fifteen clients on his caseload just to keep himself from losing his mind. he specializes in family, grief, trauma, and stress but doesn’t limit himself too much because of how small the town is. what i’m saying is : let hugo prescribe your characters drugs.

fellow beekeepers

he’s kept to himself a lot during his time in moorbrooke but his sister used to force him out at least some of the time. she drives him to beekeepers association events and conventions often enough, i would imagine it’d be a lot easier for him to talk to someone who shares the same niche hobby !! if your muse doesn’t keep bees, i’m always down for him to talk to some of the people who buy his honey at farmer’s markets.

former close friends

hugo met a lot of people ( particularly on harvard’s rowing team ) in college and during his stint in new york. i’m sure it’d be great for him to meet someone he knew up here because he’s honestly so tired of having to get used to new situations by himself.

flirtationship but hugo is oblivious the entire time

this guy is definitely the type to flirt with people on accident. i think it’d be really fuckin funny if he was flirting back and forth w someone he wasn’t consciously flirting with in the first place.

😏

listen the only thing i love playing out more slow burn self improvement and found family is romance. he’s been single since he was in new york and i think he deserves a little smooch. please dm me if your muse is also deserving of a little smooch.

etc, etc, etc !

there’s definitely more i want. i want everything you have to give me. however, if you’re in need of specifics, i would love to see : his doctors, people he can become friends with + let his walls down around, people he can teach german to, other authors, beta readers, and neighbors !

what am i missing. ah, yes.

pinterest / spotify [coming soon!]

[mirrorthoughts]

NaNoWriMo 2021 Finished!

@penny-anna gave me the idea to make a summary post for my NaNo, because, yeah, I FINISHED IT!!! Yay me! XD

For the curious, there is a longer explanation of my NaNo and slight spoilers for what I actually wrote in the end below the cut ;D

First: Yes, I stopped counting yesterday as soon as I hit the 50k (and finished the sentence), because I actually didn't care to know how much more I had written after it, since it was the last day 😂

Badges

I got almost all badges except the "1667 written each day" (you 'll see why in a second).

Daily Wordcount

I tried writing regularly and well, it didn't work that well. I had very bad days where I didn't even get 500 or 1000 words and on my worst day I actually only wrote 47 words. That's the only day I didn't write at least more than 100 words.

On the other end of the spectrum were the first saturday of November and the last. On both days I wanted to catch up from bad days - on the first Saturday I wrote 6453 words to catch up the last three days and on the last Saturday I managed a indblowing 10945 words. I still don't know how I did that, but... yeah 😂 I actually am pretty proud of me! Without that day me actually writing on par the last three days I wouldn't have won!

So yeah, my NaNo was rather wonky 😅 about half the days I got around 1667 words, half the days I didn't and then there were my two spikes where I caught up to par.

Stories

And now the last but probably most interesting thing:

What did I actually write?

Those who follow my series on AO3 know a bit more, but here are the (rough) numbers for the in total 4 and a bit projects I wrote in:

1. Feenherz/Fae Heart:

One of my goals this NaNo was finishing a story I had started during NaNo 2020 and yes, I did. And I had an epiphany on how I had to edit this darling, which is: a lot.

Not only because of the way NaNo worked (for me) this year, which means that I have a lot of ideas on the page which sadly need a lot of polishing, but also because I realised that I have to change the plot structure and timeline of the piece.

To the already existing around 12k I wrote another roughly 7k. Which means, yes, that at the moment the story is 1.5 times as long as Wolfsherz/Wolf Heart. But I don't know if that'll keep until after editing :)

This will be my number 2 project during December since my goal is to be able to at least post one chapter of this story for christmas/new year (the christmas one will probably be the german chapter, since I did write all of it in german first and it still needs to be translated as usual ;D)

2. Sorry, not Sorry

Around not quite the middle of November I had an idea for the start of another Steter story. It now got the title "Sorry, not Sorry" and it's about 9,5k long.

Here the actual idea/scene/prompt my mind threw at me:

„Why am I doing this again?“ Peter asked, eying the lecture hall full of Students, talking to each other. The noise alone was reason enough to turn and leave, never mind that he had better things to do with his time.

Talia looked over to him, raising an eyebrow.

„Because I asked you to.“

„That doesn‘t sound like me,“ he snorted, shaking his head. When he looked up, Talia‘s eyes were glowing red. „Ah, right. You didn’t ‚ask‘ the nice way.“

This time she grinned.

„That wouldn’t have worked on you anyway“

He looked over the horde of students he had to entertain in less than a minute.

„True.“

I will post it eventually, but I don't know when yet. Though I did write it in english, so at least translating won't be an issue xD (Though I do want to translate it back to german eventually but I think that will be a lot easier than the other way round)

3. Blue Moon

Another idea that kinda slipped into the last week of NaNo where I had a slight writers block. This one helped me to get out of it and is actually most of the 11k I wrote last saturday.

Unedited it got a bit more than 10k in total and it's another Steter fic about a magical Stiles running a café that's open at night in a street full of discos and bars for the nightowls, insomniacs and tired partygoers.

(Inspiration for this was the game "Coffee Talk" and a Hobbit fanfiction called Violet Nights by FunkyinFishnet)

Again, I will post this eventually but dunno when yet :3 (This is also in english so same as Sorry, not Sorry applies here)

4. + 4.5 Come Back With Me

The second goal for NaNo was to write more for my Crossover Come Back With Me. And I did. And I also, similarly to Feenherz/Fae Heart had some ideas for it's structure.

This story will actually turn into a series. I kind of finished part one (though, as everything else, it needs a lot of editing. And maybe even filling up some scenes. I'm not as happy with it as I'd like) and started on part two with a total of roughly 13.5k for both.

I'm not yet sure when/how I'll post the next chapter since editing, etc. but this one will probably go up after/parallel to Feenherz/Fae Heart.

5. Living, Learning, Loving

This is the 'bit' part xD It kinda falls out of the line since I just decided to start it the last couple of days because it's part of my advent calendar for @luzineko xD

It's a prompt she gave me for Shadowhunters, Malec, and I don't know if, how or when I'll post it.

So, yeah, those are the stories I wrote during NaNo! Hope you found this interesting! :D If you have questions, don't hesitate to ask!

And if you ask yourself 'hey, the numbers you gave are only about 40k, what's with the last 10?' I have to say two things to you:

First: I didn't tell you about everything, just the stuff that I think is interesting for you.

Second: It's none of your business how I wrote my NaNo other than what I'm wanting to share. So fuck off ❤💕

[struwwelzeter]

Ok, here it is. This is one of my all time favorite interviews. It doesn’t really contain anything new, and I am still convinced it has been translated before, but that is beside the point. He is so chatty, and I get the impression he was quite at ease with the interviewer, and he’s just and adorable dork. I gave up on trying to capture his “voice” pretty fast because it’s impossible. Maybe it’s because I know how he sounds when he speaks english, but he’s ... a bit of a hazard, in that he sounds dumb one minute and sophisticated the next, and some of the things he says are actually not translateable, so I just concentrated on trying to get what he says across and gave up on the how.

Interview with Richard Kruspe of Emigrate and Rammstein

by Marcus Schleutermann of Rock Hard Magazine, August 22, 2008

—-

Richard, where and in what kind of circumstances did you grow up?

Until I was seven I lived in a small village called Weisen. That was a beautiful childhood with alot of nature, cats and dogs and a big family with two siblings. Then the big break came unfortunately, with the divorce of my parents. My father was gone from one day to the next, and we moved in with my stepfather in Schwerin. We didn’t ge on at all. The situation between me and him escalated quite a bit and I often ran away from home quite often. Sometimes I slept on park benches or in a friend’s basement and was looked for by the police. When there was the chance to start an apprenticeship somewehre else I jumped on it right away and went to Hagenau. Since there was nothing there other than a big army base, I did nothing but spend two and a half years worth of sparetime playing guitar. Looking back, I have to say that my stepfather at least taught me basic discipline. I profit from that by now, because as a musician there is no outside obligation to sit down and compose every day.

Where would you most like to live?

At the moment, I live both in Berlin and in New York. I like that duality. New York has a unique energy that drives me. I never really warmed up to Berlin on the other hand. When I first came here, the negative attitude of the people here totally spooked me. It’s always a no at first. Apart from that it’s pretty cold here. But by now quite a few things have changed for the better, especially this refreshing multiculti-thing, which of course doesn't only work between germans and turks, but between all sorts of nationalities. I would most like to live in Cape Town. You have the mountains on one side and two oceans on the other. The people are open and friendly and there is a very beautiful light that is good for my mind. (I feel obligated to say that he uses the word «Gemüt» which could also mean mood or soul and kind of means all of those 3 things at once.) I can imagine that as a retirement retreat.

Were you more of nerd or a bruiser in school?

I think that goes without saying - quite a bit of a bruiser.

So you did end up in brawls now and then.

Certainly. At the age of 10 to 14 I got into situations all the time where I - lets say - could let loose physically. But when I started wrestling I learned how to chanel my aggressions. I trained 5 times a weekand had competitions on the weekends. Unfortunately I was way too offensive most of the time and had no patience while fighting. I wanted victory right away, like tyson.

Are your parents proud and of you?

I think my biological father is very proud of me. My mother always wanted something else for me, but by now my muscian’s life is okay for her. At the end of the day it doesn't matter what you do, as long as you are successful. Especially for the post-war generation of my parents materialistic value is still held above evrything.

So what does money mean to you?

Essentially, only the freedom to be able to do what I like to do. Money means independency to me most of all. The problem with that is of course that you get used to a certain level of luxury and lifestyle. When I earned the first bit of money with Rammstein I was in seventh heaven and thought I would never need more. With my two apartments in London and Berlin and the constant travelling I need a bit more nowadays.

How do you define success?

Success is relative. With Emigrate I got great reviews, sold a good number of albums worldwide and got releases in America and Australia. Therefore, I could assess my solo project as a success, but in comparison with Rammstein, who sell millions, Emigrate are small fry.

What was the most miserable job you ever had?

The worst job was window cleaner, because I suffer from vertigo a bit [laughs]. Initially I was a truckdriver, but I lost my license after an accident. After that the company deemed I was supposed to become a window cleaner and climb up the Schwerin television tower. No way! I just put up the ladder for them and told them: See you later! (He actually uses english for the see you later. More impactful, you see.) To get by, I made shoes myself and sold them. Espardrilles and the likes. That is funny, because I am actually not talented in crafts at all. But I am streetwise and inventive when it comes to survival. I always had to improvise to get by because I couldn't handle authority at all. As a teenager I apprenticed to be a cook/chef (Same word in german. Probably more a cook than a chef to be honest here.) That's a tough job going off the tough hours alone. Apart from that it gets quite hot by the stove after a while.

That is not that different with Rammstein’s pyro show.

Quite true, hahaha! I believe cooking and making music has so much in common anyway. I have always cooked without a recipe. I just take what is there and conjure up something delicious. Some things maybe don't fit that well in the beginning, but you learn that quite quickly and then you develop an intuitive sense. That is the same with composing.

What would have become of you, if you hadn’t become a musician?

Hm, good question. I would like to produce a band some time - so kinda switch to the other side. Other than that I love to write and could imagine screenwriting would be a suitable job for me.

Speaking of Hollywood, how about being before the camera? Are there characters you would have loved or love to play?

Two characters I find brilliant: Taxi Driver and Leon the Professional. And those gangster flicks are cool. Goodfellas and Reservoir Dogs for exemple.

So more the underdogs and the villains - not the heroes.

Yes, they just have more potential. After I shot some erotic scenes for a video the other day I could also imagine doing an entire film in that direction. I was quite nervous in the beginning, but the longer we were shooting the more fun I had. Erotic, mind you, not pornographic.

So, you’d undress for Playgirl?

Not anymore [laughs]. Although probably not before either. I do have a pretty easy going relationship with my body and run around naked in my apartment alot, but then I am not that exhibitionistic that I'd strip for some glossy magazine.

So you’re a at-home nudist.

Yeah, that's an east thing, I think. When I opened my apartment door in New York naked once when the door rang while I was in bed with my then wife, she was completely bewildered. The shameless ossis (east germans) and the prudish americans - that was a meeting of the worlds. [laughs]

Are you vain?

Unfortunately, yes. I'd like to be more above that because vanity is a negative quality that has something to do with insecurity and ego. I work on myself and as I got older I luckily developed a more casual attitude. At some point you start to accept the degredation of the body.

Theoretically you could counteract that with plastic surgery. How about an appointment with Nip/Tuck, hm?

That's not something for me, but I don't have anything against plastic surgery. If people are unhappy with their body and gain new self esteem and sense of life through an operation, they should go through with it. I do see a problem in the danger of it getting exorbitant and to develop some kind of addiction like with tattoos that goes far beyond the reasonable. The body won't go along with everythig after all, and such things as calf implants are pretty crazy.

Speaking of crazy, what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?

That must have been asking a woman to marry me two days after meeting her. She said yes, and the rest is history. (They are divorced at this point, as the article points out here - in brackets too.)

Cue: Woman: What type do you prefer?

Like almost everyone I do have some sort of type. You need a relationship that mirrors yourself and to develop. So in that sense you're looking for a partner that drives you forward in certain aspects. To have a good relationship you need to keep a balance of passion and friendship - if it's just one it will overturn at some point.

What do you think of groupies?

They just belong to it all. This symbiosis of star and groupie is like theater. The relationship between both has of course nothing to do with reality, and is just an illusion, but you shouldn't destroy that. I'm personally not really tempted by groupies because I like it when I have to fight for a woman. But I like the glamour their presence emenates.

Do you believe in god or reincarnation? Are you spiritaully inclined?

More and more. I don't believe in god in a church sense, but I'm a spiritual guy and believe in a form of justice; that the things we do come back to us in some way eventually. Karma, so to speak. I also have the slightly feminine habit of using astrology to understand people. I use it as a tool to decipher characters. Once you know how someone's house is build, it's easier to place their actions. To be clear: I don't mean horoscopes or such nonsense. There's alot of maths in astrology and you can't compare that with the usual star-sign pulp in TV programmes.

Could you live without television?

Nah. I have a huge beamer in my New York apartment's bedroom. I love lying in bed, smoking and watching good movies more than anything. That is the only thing where I can really switch of other than sex. Lots of both, please. [laughs]

Reading isn't your thing?

I used to read alot, but now I'm unfortunately too lazy for it most of the time. Even on the plane you get a monitor and a huge selection of movies since a while now. But I still have a good reading recommendation: The New York trilogy by Paul Auster.

What's the most important invention for human kind?

Each century has it's own big invention and right now that is clearly the internet. Before that it was electricity, which made everything else like the light bulb and the elctric guitar even possible.

To which era would you most like to travel if there was a time machine?

I guess the sword and blade time as I always call it. Knights templar, 11th century. I can answer that this well, because I like to watch even stupid movies when they deal with that period. I just have a huge affinity to it somehow and would love to find out how things were going back then.

Do you have a phobia?

Other than the aforementioned fear of heights I have a phobia of snakes.

When did you cry the last time?

Now you got me. That is a huge problem of mine because I just can't cry. I think that is a pity myself, because crying is an outlet with which you let grief go. Maybe that's why my music is so important to me, it's like my tear duct and helps me to live out my feelings.

——————-

- sorry for any spelling mistakes but I’m dyslexci and I can’t be bothered.

[dweetwise]

Felix and Ace having met before. Ace won a grand prize at the table and got an executive suite. Though his next door neighbor was Felix who was here on a business meeting to design a similar casino. (I am sorry I love imagining people meeting people before the fog)

this isn’t exactly what you asked for buuuut i needed to write something for waiter ace and you blessed me with this ask uwu also if you didn’t want a ship i’m sorry but that’s what i assumed! warning for closeted felix and mentions of the s3x but nothing nsfw actually happens

word count: 1860

Felix X Ace: Strictly Business

Felix wasn’t exactly prepared for the fog to transport him into another dimension. He'd read some theories, sure, and he'd seen his father disappear into thin air all those years ago, but to experience it first-hand was another thing entirely.

He also didn't expect the world in question to be controlled by an eldritch being that forced its captured victims into a gruesome game of hide and seek, killing and resurrecting him and others at will.

But he sure as hell didn't expect to come face to face with the biggest mistake of his life.

It takes Felix a minute to recognize the man, the small camp having so many new faces and names to memorize and they’re all speaking over each other—it's a lot to take in. But then he spots a familiar face, and everything the ginger woman is trying to explain to him becomes white noise as the man he focuses on laughs at something a boy in a beanie says.

Felix’s thoughts drift back to what feels like a lifetime ago, when he was on a business trip in Austria, staying at a luxurious casino. 

Him and a couple of other junior architects were invited to design an expansion to the building, and the best idea would be hired. Felix hated competition, he hated having to work on the field, and he hated the lavish, over-the-top style of the casino. But he was only starting to get his name out there, and couldn't afford to turn down any opportunities—if he played his cards right, this could be his stepping stone into more high-profile projects. Maybe he'd get to design an entire casino next time, without the twenty fake fountains and fuck-awful gold trims.

They were waited on like VIP:s while attending meetings in lavish conference rooms and bullshit marketing presentations about the brand. It was basically an all-inclusive stay, but Felix still despised it. He would have given anything to skip the unnecessary pleasantries and stay at home to draw the designs in peace.

He hated it right up until one of the waiters serving their mid-presentation coffees caught him suppressing a yawn and gave him a cheeky wink and a smirk. Felix had blinked, thinking he imagined it, but the more he kept staring, the more the waiter's smile seemed to widen.

Felix wasn't gay, but being an architect, he could appreciate aesthetically pleasing things in life. Like the waiter's symmetrical face, high cheekbones and good hairline. And eyes that sparkled with mischief even while he was outwardly completely professional.

And the way his work pants clung to his perky ass.

The waiter was suddenly a hundred times more interesting to him than the entire project. The project was predictable, and Felix once again found himself drawn to the unknown.

It wasn't a challenge to get the man's attention. He only had to linger behind after a dinner, and soon enough, there was a gloved hand brushing fleetingly against his neck as the man collected his plate. With the rest of the group having moved on, and Felix having had more than a few drinks, he'd asked if there was any possibility for room service. He was rewarded a lopsided grin and warm eyes shimmering with promise.

He always was much smoother when drunk off his ass.

He doesn't even remember what he'd designed by the end of his five-day-stay in the casino. He only remembers fucking the cute waiter against the tacky gold-trimmed headboard of the king-sized bed in his suite. And in the hot tub. And in a supply closet. It was a long week, okay?

His companion was named Luca. He'd only been working in the casino for a few months and was thinking of moving back to Italy, not being a fan of gambling or the over-the-top establishment. He had a charming accent and only spoke a couple of words of German, forcing Felix to use his own shaky English.

It was a shallow thing. Felix tried to keep his personal life private, and he definitely left out the part where he had a girlfriend back home. He'd ended up exaggerating his professional success, but wasn’t that what people did? He was just trying to make a good impression, 

After the week, Felix never talked to the other man again. He got home, unpacked his bags, and freaked out. He didn't even want to think about how unprofessional he'd been and how risky it was.

And definitely not about how much he'd enjoyed it.

The more he tried suppressing the thoughts, the more insistent they got. His brain was periodically invaded by images of warm brown eyes, expressive lips twisting into a hundred different smiles, and a laugh resonating in his ear, rich like his favorite double-roast coffee. The memories had haunted him for close to a decade, and he thought he'd finally gotten past them, ready to be a good father that had his shit together.

But here he is, seeing the same brown eyes light up with the same carefree smile and the sound of the same damn laugh echoing through the air and all the memories come flooding back.

The woman next to him hollers something to the group, and the familiar face looks his way. Even with the now grey hair and added wrinkles, Felix still finds himself just as transfixed as he'd been ten years ago.

He's introduced to the group, but he only really remembers one name and the overwhelming sense of wrongness that follows it; Ace. The revelation isn’t made any easier when he notices there isn't even a flicker of recognition in the eyes he remembers so fondly.

In the following couple of trials, Felix is only disappointed further. “Ace” doesn’t have an Italian accent anymore, in fact Felix catches him instead saying something in Spanish to the woman in a blazer. He’s also very keen on gambling, and the shiny satin smoker jacket he wears in one trial could have been straight from the tacky casino they met in. Was anything he told Felix about himself true?

It takes him a while to confront the man, debating back and forth inside his head. All of his focus should be on finding his father, and he needs to keep these people at arm’s length. Ace not remembering him is the best possible outcome of their brief past together, he tries to rationalize.

But in the end, curiosity wins over rationality, and when the opportunity presents itself, Felix is unable to resist.

“You really don't remember me, do you?” Felix asks, alone in the camp until Ace returns from a trial. The man pauses, eyebrows pinching together in confusion “I didn't leave you to die on hook, did I?” Ace asks. “That happens sometimes.” “No, I mean back in the other world,” Felix explains. “We've… met?” Ace asks.

Well. If that's what you want to call it.

“Yes,” Felix simply says and immediately, Ace cringes. “I'm sorry?” he offers. “Excuse me?” “I can count on one hand the people I've encountered who remember me fondly. There's a 99% chance you hate my guts, so I figured I'd get it over with quickly," Ace explains, seeming a little wary. “I don't hate you, I just can't believe you'd forget and… lie.” “Oh, I… I do that. Did—whatever. Nothing personal,” Ace shrugs. “I really don’t remember you, sorry.” “Casino in Vienna. 2011. I stayed at the hotel for a week. You were a waiter. You said your name was Luca. We—” Felix hesitates. “…'met'.” 

Multiple times on multiple surfaces.

“Vienna, huh? Hmm... Oh!” Ace's face suddenly lights up. “You were one of the suits, right? Some kind of… lawyer?” "Architect,” Felix corrects, a little miffed. “Same deal,” Ace dismisses with a wave of his hand. “So, are you still neck-deep in the closet?” “What?” Felix recoils. “That's—I'm not gay. It was a one-time-thing.” “That would be a yes,” Ace muses, almost as to himself. “So you do remember? All of it?” Felix prods. “Guess so. What, you want a repeat performance?” Ace asks, raising an eyebrow. “No! I just…” Felix falters. 

‘Wanted to make sure you didn't forget me because I’ve been thinking about you for the past ten years’? No way he’s admitting to any of that, so he puts on his business face.

“Wanted to come clean. So we're on the same page. To avoid any awkwardness,” Felix says instead, and it’s definitely not as smooth as he would have liked. “Right…” Ace says, regarding him skeptically.

There's a few seconds of extremely awkward silence while Ace just stares at him and Felix looks into the fire, trying to keep his face neutral and not sweat bullets. Eventually Ace sighs.

“Look, can I give you some friendly advice?” he asks. “I… I guess so," Felix says, a little confused. “Drop the act,” Ace says, looking him dead in the eye. “The manly man, excited father, respectable lawyer—” “Architect,” Felix, again, corrects in annoyance. “—suit guy thing, whatever. It's not going to serve you any purpose in here. These people see right through any bullshit, trust me on that one,” Ace adds with a knowing smile that Felix has never seen before.

He doesn't have any time to think of a reply before they're interrupted, the girl with a beanie cussing up a storm while a young guy in a sailor uniform sits down in front of Ace expectantly and the man cracks a joke and immediately starts tending to the bloody gash in the kid's shoulder.

The wound is bleeding heavily but the duo keeps chatting without a care in the world. Felix remembers he got a gauze roll from the… blood web?—and he rifles through his meager belongings before approaching the two.

“You… um,” Felix stammers, holding out the item to Ace. “Would this help?” “Cool!" the teen chirps while Ace takes the offered item silently, regarding Felix with an unreadable expression. "Thanks—uhh, what was your name again?" the kid grins sheepishly. “Felix,” he says. “And… yours?” he asks, swallowing his pride and now hesitantly curious to learn more about his companions. “I'm Steve! This is Ace, and the moping bitch over there is Nea!” Steve exclaims with a bright smile that shows his bloodied teeth. “Dude, fuck off!" the girl, Nea, calls. “Hey Felix, anyone teach you how to use a flashlight yet?" “No, not really," Felix confesses, cautiously approaching the girl. “I understand the need for tools and medical supplies, but… what would you use a torch for?” ------------------ “So how's the new guy holding up?” Steve asks. Ace looks over to where Felix is sitting with Nea. “Allvarligt—förstår du mig inte?” Nea has apparently moved on from flashlight training to Swedish lessons. “For the last time, your Swedish sounds like gibberish to me," Felix explains. "Just because the languages are related—" “Sheiße,” Nea interrupts with a grin, moving to swear in German. “A multilingual genius, I see,” Felix deadpans. “He's learning,” Ace says, hiding his own hopeful smile behind the fluffy hair of the boy he's patching up.

(nea’s line: “seriously, you don’t understand me?”) i’m not 100% happy w this fic, esp since it’s about a new character but it’s a start at least! i also really wanted to throw in a “sure you’re hot but you were so boring i forgot all about you” line but it didn’t fit and now you just have to imagine that’s what ace was thinking