#also it looks more like Portuguese so it should be easier

[steampunkforever]

Making movies about real tragedies is always a difficult undertaking. No matter the pains you take to be as sensitive as possible, it's inevitable that such a touchy subject is going to anger SOMEONE. This doesn't even take into account the times that you, as a hypothetical filmmaker, will actually mess up for real. Nevertheless, director Paul Greengrass set out to tackle the Irish Troubles-- by no means an uncomplicated subject --in his film Bloody Sunday, a piece of cinema that tackles tasteful portrayal of the Bloody Sunday massacre by putting you in the crowd.

When we talk about how using cameras to communicate affect in cinema, handheld is one of the simplest mechanics for getting the audience to feel present in a film. It's why the crowd shots in Pi or the Goodfellas club scene or even the Evil Dead DemonCam work so well. This is essentially first person POV, and even when it isn't directly so, we feel like we're there with the characters, protesting on the streets of Derry against internment at the hands of the British. Greengrass uses handheld camera effectively, eschewing the newsreel perspective in favor of camerawork that felt more like the handheld camcorder footage used to film the 9/11 attacks on the twin towers just a year before the release of this film. He pulls you directly into the narrative. You're as much of a witness to the violence as the reporters documenting the Derry protests or the commanding officers giving the order to send in the Paras.

This brings us to the way Greengrass edits the film. The footage in Bloody Sunday rarely cuts, instead fading to black and then fading in the next shot. It feels almost like archival footage, the fades cutting off characters mid-sentence before taking us to the next segment of the film. This technique isolates the shots, but it heightens our awareness of how these discrete places and people (The British Paratrooper squad, Irish Nationalist politician Ivan Cooper, Major General Patrick MacLellan) all led up to the massacre.

It reminds me of working on my own films and logging footage. Each clip stringing together in a vacuum, telling a story without the invisible hand of narrative shaping perception through crossfades and transitions. Until the shooting starts, and Greengrass organically moves into a seamless, breathless sequence in which the Paras start shooting and the crowd scatters. It feels like you're there, and I noticed my blood pressure raise at the injustice unfolding onscreen. Incredibly effective filmmaking here, and the intentional camerawork does an impressive job at bringing the audience into the events of Bloody Sunday without the feelings of voyeurism often present in cinema about human suffering.

Bloody Sunday is, in my opinion, an elegant portrayal of a tragic landmark in the Irish Troubles. It's a film that impacted me emotionally, elevating my heartrate at the injustice unfolding onscreen. The British Government still shields David Cleary from prosecution for the mass killing, with legal repercussions for anyone who refers to him by his real name instead of "Soldier F," making clear the need for us to remember these atrocities perpetrated in the name of imperialism.

#filmposting #bloody sunday #paul greengrass #film #cinema #really liked this one #greengrass still got flack for it btw #people said he focused too much on civil rights leaders and military command instead of the people in the crowd #which I get but also thats a lot of territory to cover for a film that's only so long #the camera in the crowd bits can only go so far and its definitely easier to focus on public figures who have more documentation about them #good movie though #definitely should be on your list #also the paras wear Denison smocks which I realize were a connection to the rhodesian brushstroke #the rhodeys were big paratroopers during WWII and would've had access to these smocks #if you look at rhodey brushstroke its basically portuguese lizard mixed with the Denison smock pattern #fascinating really how the cultural influences mix #also made the paras seem that much more evil as they seemed to be wearing the uniform of a colonial ethnostate while doing a colonial war #I think at least one of the para smocks was taken from rhodesia bc it looked too crisp to be pat59 denison #but maybe it was just a repro

[magicalmanhattanproject]

Okay, so with Quackity Studios tweeting about adding new people and the need for tolerance and patience with people who don't speak English, let's just take a second and have a chat about what that's gonna look like.

First: you will hear things or read things on the translator that hurt or offend you.

This is inevitable. Do not immediately post about it. What you need tolerance for is hearing things that hurt or offend you and what you need patience for is figuring out of malicious intent was present or if this is a hill worth dying on right now.

As an example, we're pretty sure at this point that Korean is gonna be the next language added. The second person pronoun in Korean sounds a lot like the n-word in English. The n-word in English, if you're not aware, is like the single most offensive slur we have. It's not something that you want to hear unexpectedly. But also, if we get Koreans, they're gonna be using the word for "you" and English speakers are gonna have to be able to tolerate that.

On the other side of things, Korean has a complex system of honorifics and addressing someone without an honorific would be considered very forward and intimate at least if not very rude. None of the QSMP languages have honorifics though and only French really retains formality* so no one else is going to address them with honorifics unless they specifically explain it to people and walk them through it. That will probably be weird and uncomfortable for them and they're going to have to be able to tolerate that.

*Spanish and Portuguese do technically have formal vs informal but it's disappearing quickly in both of them.

These natural cultural clashes and pain points are going to be harder to overcome since we also know that at least some of these creators won't speak English at all so they can't just switch to English to helpfully explain things to us easily in a way we understand. We're going to have to deal.

So here's the thing: just because there can be cultural miscommunications and mistranslations, that doesn't mean that people can't also be assholes. How do you distinguish between the two?

Step One: Assume good faith. Assume that everyone in a given encounter is trying to communicate respectfully and compassionately and that a failure to do so can be overcome

Step Two: Don't get involved. Especially not in Twitch Chat. Two or more people trying to communicate through a language barrier does not get easier when they're also trying to wrangle hostile viewers.

Step Three: Are you sure you heard what you thought you heard or saw what you thought you saw? Did the translator fuck up? Is it a word that just coincidentally happens to sound like another word? If this is the case, the streamers can ask for clarification or use another tool and get it cleared up. Keep watching and see if they do.

Step Four: If they did say what you thought they said, are the streamers handling it? We had a thing a while back where Bad called some friends, including Bagi and Etoiles, uncultured because they didn't get a reference he was making and Etoiles was like "bro I'm French" and Bad apologized. That should have been the end of it, but I had to see people arguing about it for weeks. The problem was solved in 10 seconds.

Step Five: If the person is doubling down, are you sure this is something you can fix by yelling about it on Twitter or Tumblr? Would it be better to let people who actually know them talk to them behind the scenes? Pierre made a few missteps in the beginning of the server, Quackity said they had a chat, Pierre hasn't misstepped since. It's just easier to sort things out in private, one on one conversation than yelling at someone in public.

In short: it's fine to take note of behavior in case patterns start to emerge in it, but yelling on social media about how so and so is the worst person possible is not constructive.

#sorrelposting #qsmp

[factorialsotherfandoms]

Well Saga clicked the like button and she's already seen most of this, but... A little bit of first draft of some xcomau Pac and Mike backstory (from the period between escaping prison and being recruited by the army). I say little bit. I'm not supposed to be working on this fic at all, but its a sizable middle chunk.

He is conscious, just about, and curled around Mike. The air is thinner, now, but still tainted green; he keeps his hoodie tight over his mouth, and keeps fabric stretched over Mike's slack face. It won't stop the poison, but with less in the air hopefully it means they will outlast it.

It will disperse. It has to disperse. A bit of time. All gases disperse with time. It's making him dizzy now - it's easier to breathe up here on the third floor than it was on the street, at least - and sick, and his vision is fading, but give it time. Just a little time.

It burns, but it is not as though he has not been burnt before.

Pac just… He just needs to hold on… And protect Mike. Keep Mike safe, that is all…

The world is darkness and silence, and then it is tinted some colour Pac cannot quite pin down, and there are loud footsteps and louder voices. They speak Portuguese, and yet… Pac cannot quite manage to understand it.

He presses himself tighter over Mike. Mike's breathing is worse, but he's still breathing.

How long has it been? It's easier to see now, but how long has it been?

And then there's another loud sound.

Pac barely understands what is happening, except that he is being pulled away from Mike. He kicks and he fights, but he has always been too weak, and the toxins have sapped his strength. Despite his best efforts, his hoodie is being peeled from his face, and something pressed to his face.

And then they let go.

Confused - terrified - he holds his breath and throws himself over Mike. Someone swears as the thing falls, only for it to be back a few moments later.

They do not take him away from Mike this time, though. As long as he has Mike, as long as he has Mike, then they're going to be okay… He just…

Pac clings to Mike across their bond, pulling the blur of drugged oblivion close and protecting him. Wrapping him in his own reality, in his own mind, even as Pac's desperate nails dig so deep into the unconscious Mike's arm that he bleeds.

And yet, Pac still does not breathe, frozen and eyes wild as he watches a figure reaches around his head, pulling a strap -

Oh. It's a proper mask. A gas mask.

That's…

Pac nearly rips it from his own face - Pac is conscious, Pac can breathe, Mike needs it, Mike need it, he needs it so, so much more than him - stopped only by hands grabbing his. He struggles and fights, until a second pair of hands place another gas mask in his hands. He ignores whatever the two figures say, grabbing it himself and expertly affixing it to Mike's face.

All that practice is good for something, it seems.

Only then can he relax a little, still huddled over Mike's unconscious body, still clinging to the drugged haze where Mike's thoughts should be, but relaxed a little.

Mike is still breathing, still there, wrapped in his mind; it should be a little easier, now that charcoal steals the poison from the air.

"Hi, we're sorry for scaring you," one figure - a police officer, a woman - says. "We weren't expecting to see anyone this close to the impact."

Not anyone alive, she doesn't say.

Or maybe outside the bodies have been vaporised too.

Pac wouldn't know, not when they followed their first instincts - ran and scrambled and hid just like the rats that they are.

"Is your friend…?"

She's treating him like a terrified child. Pac will take it, over many other options.

"He's breathing," Pac tells her, only to find himself coughing every could of words as his body adjusts back to the oxygen. "It's… thank you- for the masks; we'll give them- back, when its gone."

The other figure is a man, also a cop, and he waves a placating gesture, the woman looks curiously at them.

"If you don't mind, how did you survive it? You must have been pretty close here."

"There's three poisons," Pac is very sure of that. This time as he talks, he forces his breathing to remain deep, and even, and everything his instincts scream against. "One knocks you out, one is paralytic, the third does… it made more of those things. From people. I'm not… the mechanisms… Mike recognised the taste of the paralytic fast, so we didn't bother trying to get away. Covered up best we could, and got indoors. Sealed up. Hid. Its not… not perfect. But the dose isn't as bad. He's still breathing. He… shouldn't die. The gas particles… he shouldn't die. But… We got off the street, so we didn't get the third one. They're good at chasing, and following screaming, but not finding you if you're quiet and still. We're not a danger to you, I promise, we're no danger to you!"

It's as the cops glance at one another that Pac realises that that is not information most people would know. He and Mike do - similar chemicals are common in less ethical security systems - but…

Fuck, fuck he's being looked at now. Mike's still out of it, and he himself is still not all there. How can he…

"Sorry, er, sorry. I'm-" fuck what was the name on that id. Doesn't matter. "Department of biochem. Used to be. But…" he gestures at his leg. "Didn't have lifts, and still can't walk somedays. Mikey quit with me when they couldn't guarantee ground floor labs."

It doesn't seem to make the two any less curious, though something in their expressions shifts.

"We've got a medical post set up nearby," the woman says. "We can escort you-"

"I'm not leaving Mike," Pac cuts across her, the one thing that really matters. He says it, clings to Mike's sleeve, breathes a moment. Still here. Still here. Mike is still here. "And, I don't… I just woke up from it. I don't think i can stand."

His eyes flitter between the pair.

"We can carry you to the truck downstairs. One of the medics will take you from there," the gentleman says.

He doesn't trust it. Pac does not trust it. It's easy - too easy. THis pair wear police uniforms. They don't know who he is, the fake ID exists in the government databases, but it's too fucking easy. They shouldn't, he shouldn't… Are they recognised? Do they realise? He can't… What if they hurt Mike while he can't defend himself? You beat people if you catch them running, right?

It's risky, so risky, if he could just… Just pick Mike up, then they could run. Avoid these cops, and disappear back into the now ruined city.

But… his body is still riddled with pain, and breathing is still a struggle, and Mike probably needs actual medical attention. He… shouldn't stop breathing. If the paralytic was going to take his lungs, it would have already. But… if it does… its a weird one. It might. And if it does, he needs a hospital. Needs help until his liver breaks all the poison down. Pac… its a weird poison. They should probably both be near help, just in case. The full symptoms aren't known. With how quickly they set in if they aren't dead yet it's not likely, but with so many unknowns… They should try be near a doctor.

It's just…

They can escape again. If they need to, they can escape again.

Still torn, but desperate and with Mike unable to help form a decision, Pac nods. The woman helps him up, while he watches the man scoop Mike into his arms. He's gentle enough, though, even careful with his spine; the only grounds that Pac can find to object is the screaming desperation to have his soulmate in his arms.

It's hard, staying conscious with the poisons inside his body.

He makes it half way down the first flight of stairs before his legs crumple, and the woman swings him into her arms.

He makes it to seeing Mike placed next to him in the truck before he passes out again.

#qsmp draft fanfic #qsmp pac #qsmp mike #fanfic snips #curly and saga there are some edits from what I showed you last night #because of course I edited this a bit instead of working on anything I'm supposed to work on #this is like... idk the end of the third to last or fourth to last scene? #qsmp au #qsmp x xcom

[alatismeni-theitsa]

Hey! Firstly: sorry for the questionable English and the huge ask (I'm a bit wordy). Also, thx if you respond! Secondly: when I say “modern” I don’t mean it in the more “academic” sense of the word, which covers a long time. It’s more like “from the 1970s to now.”

I'm Brazilian and, unfortunately, most of the popular books here are by writers from the USA, England or Canada. As you can see, it's not exactly a large variety and, to give you an idea, not even the national ones are popular among the general public (neither the modern ones nor the classic ones) and not even the neighboring countries have well-known authors here (hardly anyone would be able to name a Bolivian author, for example)

I was starting to get bored with the books I'd read recently bc so many of them seemed the same until I realized that it's kind of ridiculous of me to expect different books from similar authors (from the same places, with the same sexualities, with the same races, same social classes…) bc personal experience is an essential part of an author. I then realized that it would probably be best to vary my reading if I REALLY wanted to see more of what I already had.

Naturally, I started with the classics. I'm still researching classics bc there are so many and just one title takes a long time to choose a decent edition (I only read in Portuguese, so imagine that I don't have the same availability that English and Spanish readers have. It's also less rated/commented on, so it's more difficult to find someone who talks about aspects such as translation, additional texts, etc. An example I'll give you is that I didn't find ANY website talking about translations of the Homeric Hymns and I must have found around three editions only, all with one very small number of evaluations. Of the three, only one had enough comments to be reliable and it is an academic edition, as it is from a federal college. The other two editions did not have additional texts, the evaluations were few and the publishers did not seem trustworthy). But, although it is important to know the classics from other countries, I think that more modern books should also receive attention.

When it comes to Greece, finding information about the classics is not a difficult mission bc many are already very popular (at least not anymore now that I found the right sites. At first, it was a little annoying bc the results were books like Percy Jackson and The Silence of the Girls, which wasn't exactly what I was looking for). Ofc, finding it in Portuguese is another story and I think at some point I'll have to resort to trying to read some in Spanish (at least the language is close enough to Portuguese that it's not so confusing, and Google is there to help). But if I search for classic books, several informative sites will appear, so less bad. However, I noticed that when it comes to researching more modern Greek authors it is a little more complicated bc Greek literature here is more associated with Homer, Euripides, etc. (surprisingly, it was easier for me to find Korean, Japanese and Chinese recommendations, which are much further from Brazil than the Greeks)

Anyway, I did all this contextualization so you can have a better idea of what I'm looking for. I was wondering if you (or any of your followers who read this, who knows) had any recommendations for Greek books that are not classical. I don't care if it's a more complex book that makes the reader reflect or if it's a more silly teen book, both interest me. Then I'll look for them in Portuguese, but if I don't find them, I'll leave them on the future reading list to try in Spanish later.

NOTE: Prose would probably be better bc I noticed that I encounter fewer accessibility problems than poems (due to the issue of translations into Portuguese. Even from countries with closer languages, like our Spanish-speaking neighbors, it is difficult to find. ..and poems seem even rarer)

Well, "the Classics" for us Greeks are not the ancient texts you mention. That's just what the westerners call our ancient texts. "The Classics"/"Classic literature" for us are works written in the last two centuries. Search my tag #greek literature to see our classic writers and their works.

Have a great day, and thanks for passing by 💗 I hope you find what you seek. I'm always open for more questions.

================================

If my posts have helped you in any way consider buying me a ko-fi 💖

#answered

[yooniesim]

why does your intro say you're blasian when in the past you've said you're mixed black and white? genuine question

Hey nonny, I've answered this before! That was one ask where I simply didn't list out everything that makes up my race, I just went simple. I've mentioned also being Asian (Japanese) elsewhere on this blog multiple times throughout the years as well as on discord many times, but multiple people pretend otherwise and point out that one ask as "proof" that I'm not being truthful? (Or that I didn't bring it up because of... some pretty racist stereotypical comparisons to the Japanese invasions of Korea & the relations between those nations as similar to those between me and a Korean simmer on here which, blows my mind to see non-Asian people throwing around to relate to petty disagreements about gifs on sims tumblr without a hint of self-awareness of their insensitivity or lack of education... but I digress) Just bc I didn't say everything in that one ask doesn't mean it doesn't exist! Just like I didn't mention the further breakdown of the white part of my ethnicity being Sicilian, Portuguese, & Irish in that ask, but I have mentioned those things elsewhere.

I also think it's important to mention that for biracial people, it's extremely difficult to answer that question of, "what are you?". I've heard it so many times in my life, sometimes more crudely as "what color are you?" or mixed with slurs. You don't know what you should mention or where you belong. If you're mixed with white, you feel you should mention it, but I can attest that white people do not accept you or consider you white and treat you like some mutt... or worse. Even your own family members, I know this very, very well. But people on here, for some reason, immediately dismiss you if they hear the word white, as if that eliminates everything else. If you're mixed with black, well, are you black enough? People on here have told me I can only be black with two black parents, so I guess not. So what about Asian? Even though Japanese is in my blood, to the point where it shows in my appearance, and I endure slurs/stereotypes about it, am I allowed to say it? After all, I don't speak Japanese or live in Japan. Am I Asian enough? Clearly some people on here don't think so. Not white, not black, not asian either, so says the jury. So what the hell am I? It gives me pause every time I have to answer this question, and yes, I've answered it differently over the years. These are all things I didn't feel comfortable discussing then, and that nonny sure didn't ask for, and sometimes... it's easier just to go simple, you know?

Now that I'm a little older, I've had to come to the realization that I have to find what I'm comfortable with using for myself and not care about what anyone else says or what their standards are, because I'll never be enough for them. I can only be enough for me. Blasian now seems like the quickest & easiest way to get across what I am rather than bringing out the whole book that makes up me, and it tends to be most of what other people see when they look at me IRL, so that is the term I'm comfortable with using now & will continue to use! And everyone will just have to accept it or move on.

#asks #anonymous #ceci speaks #aboutceci #i know this ask will bring out weirdos and im saying right now #they can kiss my ass #believe me or dont thats up to you #im not going to dox myself and my family for your bad faith purposefully ignorant argument #grow up #now take your screenshots and run to your discord servers ta ta #my lil minions #📸 #(none of these tags are @ you nonny lol) #tldr: life as a mixed person sucks ass lol

[onwriting-hrarby]

i didn't realize i was being flirted with and the guy didn't speak my language - on speaking a minority language

hey folks, i hope you're fine! this week i have been going into cafés and bookshops and trying to tackle a little bit of writing. i always seem to flow better at those spaces, when i'm not home, as if my time was somehow more restricted and i had to make it worth it.

something happened on one of my outings, though. aside of not being able to write because a guy wanted to talk to me (and at that time, i thought he really wanted to talk to me. only when i explained it to other people i realized he might be flirting, which is sad, because we talked about writing and literature and it might have all been a bluff... anyways. i gave him my email and instagram cause i thought he was genuine but now i'm hesitant to answer, truly. i am so naive. look, i haven't been flirted with for 13 years. i don't realize these things.), this same guy was working on the café i was on. and so i approached and asked him, in my language: could you watch my bag while i go to the toilet?

and he looked at me, almost glaring, took out one of his buds from his ear, and said: "ENGLISH?"

Like, not even a "please". Not even "I don't understand". He requested English just like this. Just like... it was easy.

Some of you may know that I speak a minority language in a country that has TWO official languages: mine and Spanish. Not English, mind you. We know English because we learn it at school, same as fucking French.

Thing is: We can't speak our minority language anymore. I mean, we can, but people don't understand us. The policy of coming to our country is that everyoen is free to come (and everyone is! thank god for that) but that means that people learns the bigger language, which is Spanish. And, look, I mean, I could understand that. Maybe it's ignorance, maybe it's because it's easier, and a lot of people already know Spanish when they come, so why do they care about learning for a smaller language? (Well, then they'll record videos saying that we are not welcoming, that it's difficult to have relationships or friendships with people... I mean... You're forcing me to change my language but.) The thing is: Waiters don't understand us, people from shops, in the fUCKING DOCTOR i can't speak my language. And I'm not bilingual. I don't have the same ability with one language or another, because I speak my native tongue much more than I do Spanish. When I go to therapy, I need to ask beforehand if they speak my language.

Anyway, the thing is WE ARE LOSING OUR LANGUAGE and people that come here don't really care about it. Okay, globalisation, capitalisation, economisation.Fucking whatever.

But we have been living an age when there's also a lot of expats. And I mean A LOT. And they all use English as a common language and that's so... DISRESPECTFUL. Learn the fucking language of the country you're going to. They do this in all the countries they go, though. I get angry when Spanish people don't learn my language, because they would fucking learn portuguese if they went to Portugal, right? Or Germany. But Spanish is an official language, so I can understand their reasons. But to pressupose that people know English EVERYWHERE in the world... it's another level. It's so fucking disrespectful.

Honestly, I don't know why I engaged in conversation with him. He had just moved here (no knowledge of nothing, not even the neighbourhoods in the city. He wanted the experience. Okay) and I found him interesting because I always find people interesting. But I should have told him: NO ENGLISH. NO FUCKING ENGLISH. I'M NOT ENGAGING IN SOMEONE WHO MOVES BUT DOESN'T CARE TO LEARN MY LANGUAGE.

I've had enough. So disrespectful.

#I had to vent.

[letterslaura]

Writing as an articulating axis and practices involving Educational Technologies

Coucou everyone! 

Today we are going to tackle a very important topic: developing writing skills in school. 

What memories do you have of writing practices in school? In my case, it was always fun and natural, just because I was so eager to practice my writing skills, but we know that this may not be the reality for most children. When I was in school, the methods were pretty strict and mechanical, with very little room for imagination. In Portuguese we were taught (a lot of) fixed rules, systems, genres (not the cool ones) and structures, everything for the sake of Enem’s essay. In the English classes things were not so different. In a room full of people, with a diversity of confidence and enthusiasm, imagine trying to apply the same monotonous pattern. What could it lead to? This rigid approach to writing can turn it into a monster for students, a real struggle, especially when in another language. It should not be like this. Students should be encouraged  to see writing as a simple skill that helps us convey messages in the best possible way. And they should know that they are all capable of learning it!

Now, let’s move away from the past and take a look at what schools are teaching today. From the Common National Curriculum Base (BNCC), we can grasp how things should be done inside the classroom. Regarding writing practices in primary education, the BNCC states that writing is an essential competency that crosses many areas, not being restricted to language itself. In other words, writing practices in school should not focus only on language or on grammatical rules. Instead, it should aid students express their ideas and communicate adequately in the other disciplines as well. Could you spot the difference from the previous approach? I was so thrilled to read about how much has changed!

Further on, the BNCC stresses the relevance of integrating educational technologies into the writing practices, such as softwares, collaborative platforms, multimedia resources, etc. Thankfully, there are plenty of resources at our disposal and they can greatly enhance the teaching learning experience. This integration opens up a world of possibilities.

After that, according to Liberali, “social activities in second language teaching focuses the study on activities where the students interact with each other in determined and historically dependent cultural contexts.” (LIBERALI, 2009, p. 12). Educational technologies are able to facilitate social interactions with speakers of the target language (in this case, English) and there lie glorious opportunities to teach writing practices smoothly. 

One of my favorite writing activities (if not my favorite) was a movie review requested in the third period of the English discipline. Learning every aspect of an adjective was never so fun! In my opinion, it is a brilliant idea, since there are many interesting literary and linguistic aspects to be explored in a movie review and it can be done with just the amount of difficulty you want. How cool would it have been to write a review of "Finding Nemo" back in the day?

Movie reviews are also easily relatable, as everyone has a favorite movie, making it much easier for the students to connect and really engage with the proposal. To make the experience even more realistic, if the students' age group allow, it is also possible to introduce the Letterboxd website, according to the students' age group. In this site, they can read reviews of the movies they like and maybe even post their own later. In order to enrich the activity a little more, there can also be held peer reviews and presentations.

Another idea is to explore the world of comics! What Brazilian kid does not know Monica's Gang? Comics are very appealing for primary students, it is usually a genre that they are comfortable with and it really stimulates creativity. You can begin with reading and understanding the components of comic books, leaving the writing to the end. By creating setting and characters first, the story will be less difficult to write. It is important to get to know your students in order to pinpoint what activity would be a better fit to them.

Finally, there are plenty of writing resources online, which can be used to help students in their process. My favorites include: Thesaurus, Cambridge Dictionary, Collins Dictionary, Linguee and Grammarly. These tools can give a little extra confidence to those embarking on the adventure of writing in another language.

Now that you know a little more about writing practices and educational technologies, make sure to leave a comment below with your own experiences. I want to know all about it! 

XOXO

Laura

#education #teaching #learnin #writing #brazil #esl #english #portuguese #school #text

[aesteasis]

do you have any brazilian literature recommendations :))?

ooohohoho yes i do, im glad you asked >:)) grab some snackies and a water bottle, this is gonna be a long post.

most of what i've read from brazilian literature are classics and like books that are at least decades old lol (uni life go brr), so my recommendations will probably rotate around that. so lets go!

first of all, of course, i recommend Dom Casmurro by Machado de Assis (black author btw!), it wouldnt be a br lit rec if i didnt mention this one at some point. this is like the ultimate classic i'd say, but im not recommending just for that. i REALLY enjoy unreliable narrators and this book is all about it. its a novel about a guy who marries his childhood love, but suspects she's cheating on him, but yk, he's a white man from the 19th century, he thinks he's always right and is privileged af and it shows in the way he tells his story, so his opinions arent that trustworthy. and the author knew very much what he was doing, and he did it on purpose.

still about Machado, i must mention his short stories. i really really enjoy grotesque and gothic literature (think the vibes of poe, lovecraft, gogol, dostoevsky, etc) and Machado nails at it. he's also translated poe's works to portuguese back in the day, so we know for certain there's some influences in there. well, i recommend Machado in genereal, my guy really knew how to criticize society with some great witty and sarcastic comments if you know where to look.

if you want more grotesque but is tired of reading stuff written by men, i recommend Julia Lopes de Almeida (who isnt as known as she should be, she was done dirty and purposefully neglected by ABL - brazilian literary non-profit society) and Lygia Fagundes Telles. both of them have some reeeal creepy stories, just the way i like it.

now, if you're into authors who dissect the human mind and master the stream of consciousness and love to relate to the thoughts of the characters of your books, i highly recommend Clarice Linspector. no one does it like her, my girl knows how to transform thoughts into a narrative and its insane, her books are really endearing to read imo.

but if you want something that will thresh the brazilian society (or well, any third world country's society i'd say) and expose every flaw about the system, racism, misogyny, colonialism and class conflict, i recommend specifically the books Vidas Secas, by Graciliano Ramos (idk if theres a translation, but the title says Dry Lives), The Slum, by Aluísio Azevedo, and The Devil to Pay in the Backlands, by Guimarães Rosa (this one is sooo hard to read in portuguese bc it uses a lot of regionalisms from a region im not from, so hard that i actually got a copy in english to read for my finals lmao. but worry not, the english translation is much easier to understand. it also has some queer themes, both gender and sexuality wise, and its a literal masterpiece).

for poetry, i highly recommend Augusto dos Anjos, a personal favourite. im not that into poetry, but Carlos Drummond de Andrade and Cecilia Meireles are very good too.

there's so much more i could recommend, but these are the ones that come to my mind rn. idk if thats what you were thinking about, and sorry i coulnt bring anything contemporary, if thats more your vibes, but i really recommend all of these, for anyone, they're really enriching to read.

#lua answers #brazilian literature

[freshstartfromscratch]

WAIT I JUST TRANSLATED THE ITALIAN SCHOOL CIRRICULUM THING AND LATIM IS A LANGUAGE THINGY??????? I THOUGHT THAT IT WASN'T A FULL ON CLASS?? DOES ANYONE STILL SPEAK LATIN??? WTF????? HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE??? MY LIFE IS A LIE???

So Latin at school. Yay.

Basically you're not learning it in the same way you'd any modern language. It's a language that was in use for thousands of years so of course it changed a lot during this time span. That's why it's separated in at least three categories - classical Latin (used in late Roman Republic and early Roman Empire), ecclesiastical Latin (used by medieval Church) and Vulgar Latin (unofficial Latin used from the Late Roman Republic onward) this one is the origins story of all Romance languages.

Yep. All those fancy, sexy languages that people find hot like Italian or French are based on what I can only explain as Latin Cockney:

Just imagine Dave is Latin language and Daveo is Italian/French/Spanish/Portuguese/Romanian language.

It kind of looks like a medieval language class tbh. You don't learn how to introduce yourself or how to describe your family tree, because:

1. It's a dead language so it doesn't serve the purpose of communication anymore like foreign language does.

2. Latin is still used in science and it's a language which influenced Western identity the most. In order to truly understand the Western culture you need Latin (and ancient Greek but Latin is a bare minimum.)

You learn words and their conjugations (because in Latin unlike in English each person has it's own verb variant) and translate old texts. Conjugation may be affected by person, number, gender, tense, mood, aspect, voice, or other language-specific factors.

The purpose of having Latin is to better understand how modern European languages function. It's a blueprint for Romance languages like: Italian, French, Spanish, Portugese and Romanian (those are the big ones but not the only existing Romance languages.) Latin had an influence on the other language families too, and you'll have hard time finding European languages that don't have any Latin influence ( I'm looking at you the Finno-Ugric gang - Finnish, Estonian and Hungarian.) English was influenced by Latin too, that's why for example when you see this majestic beast:

You'd call it a Germanic word "a cow" but when it's turned into this:

It's called beef, from Old French boef (modern French bœuf) -> Latin bōs.

The poorer Germanic language people were keeping cows but the rich French Norman (Latin based language) speakers ate them.

Knowing Latin, even basic knowledge, is very helpful if you want to learn an European language. The logic behind the language (like existence of plural forms, significant portion of the vocabulary ect) is more often than not Latin based.

For many countries (in Europe but not only) Latin is also the language of religion. Yes, Catholic church still uses Latin from time to time, and to pass religion class in grade 8 (I think) I had to memorize Lord's Prayer aka Pater Noster (it's the Catholic beliefs in a nutshell and how Jesus taught the prayer should look like) in Latin. Latin is also an official language of the Vatican City, and was in fact one of the reasons why reformation happened, but I'm getting off track.

Latin is also useful in philosophy. Though many of the ancient European philosophers were Greek, there were a few Romans too. As you might noticed, in translation parts of text loose their meaning, and the words don't have an impact of the original version. Same thing with philosophy. To fully understand and embrace the meaning you need to know the original language aka Latin.

To summ it up! Latin is still sometimes taught in schools because:

1. it's a blueprint for the majority of modern European languages (and in the EU you should speak at least two) so if you know basic Latin it's easier to learn other languages.

2. It's the language of science and ancient philosophy. To truly understand what thought process created the West you need to know how Latin functioned and what texts written in it actually mean.

3. It's a language of the Catholic Church - the largest nomination in the Christian religion. Approximately 1.3 billion people in the world are Catholics - that's 17.7% of the world's population.

4. It's the common heritage of the Western world locked in the language form. People learn it to learn about their heritage and culture. What influenced people through thousands of years to form the Western cultures and history? Why certain thoughts and ideas (like for example individualism instead of collectivism, démocraties instead of authoritarianism) were embraced in the West? Language affects the way people think, so how Latin influenced Western values?

I hope I explained it at least a little bit 😅. I'm sorry if it all sounds more confusing now.

#not ac #ask answered #Latin #latin language #i didn't Even like Latin at school

[assim-eu-sou]

Kally's Mashup Liveblogs: 1x1

1:1

I’m gonna be real, being a music major and having heard what pianists have to play at school… I’m not blown away. But no worries, I will suspend my disbelief for the remainder of this program. Like bruh… piano performance majors play music that makes me feel glad I can even follow along with the score and I’M a music major.

I like all the music stiff in the title sequence

NOOOO NOT THE BAD FAKE VIOLIN PLAYING

Ok I lied I’m probably gonna be insufferable in these liveblogs when it comes to music

Are her parents divorced and just good at coparenting?

Ok that’s a nice viola case, one of my colleagues has the same one

Ok I don’t blame them for hating child prodigies… I’ve been on both sides of the equation: I’m a currently child prodigy hater but as a child, I was always the youngest student and it could be very isolating so. Fair for both sides.

Some Spanish is harder to understand than others, and this is on the easier side. I can’t figure out a subs situation but it’s not necessary. Maybe it just feels easy because I’m watching a show in Portuguese right now.

This is all moving very quickly lol

However if you told 13 year old me that I could pack up and go to a conservatory I don’t think I would have hesitated

Her parents must be stronger than mine though because they would never let me lmao

Something alive is in that backpack

Ok I wasn’t expecting a dog for some reason

The dog ate his homework

Oh, she’s the daughter of the staff…. I can stop being on her side because I have definitely been on the other side of THAT equation… nepotism in music is real

Why is the dad such a trainwreck

Instant best friend… what a nice turn of events

Being adopted by extroverts is the best

I know this show will be dunking on classical music and I will just have to accept it… like I get it but there IS classical music that bops. Like what she’s playing now… Beethoven V

Kally said vegetables >

And I have to agree

I have also pretended to be asleep to avoid conversation #relatablemoment

Those boots are cute

Seems like she has a strong imagination

Someone just playing a G major scale in the background

LMAO not Beethoven V as the confrontation theme

LMAO what music school doesn’t let people listen to whatever music… I see we are adding some dramatic effect

Ok I’m TRYING not to be insufferable but I have to be allowed some insufferableness as a treat

Pls give this violist a shoulder rest I beg

At least her piano playing only looks a little fake/forced. I can accept it

I should try adding some beats to something I’ve worked on. I’m definitely not against remixing classical music; it’s a great way to adapt and add new life to something that has been around for a while.

Beethoven V… I have a lot of experience with it… I had to conduct excerpts from it in conducting class a couple times

I keep talking about Beethoven V but the main piece you keep hearing is the theme from Mozart 40

So, final thought? I’m gonna keep watching! My first impression is that it’s easier to get through than Violetta (no offense to Violetta, the pacing in S1 is just driving me bonkers.) I feel like it will lack that tragic/dramatic aspect that all DCLA novelas seem to have, and that’s ok (it just makes headcanoning the characters more engaging). The concept does have its similarities with Violetta, but it’s different enough for me not to be like hmmm. Even if the instrument playing and standards ranges from unrealistic to straight-up fake, it’s fun to see instrumentalists. So stay tuned for more! It’s a little overwhelming to have so many shows on my plate, but mark my words: one day, I will have finished Violetta AND this. Thanks for the info, @supernova-ferro !

#that's right shaz here we gooooo #new show moment #this has? a lot of eps? #idk how long this will take but that's ok #I haven't even finished S1 of violetta #lmao oops #this is fine #kally's mashup

[midorishinji]

Disappearing act - chapter XV

Geto observed her more carefully, trying to decide whether she was being serious or not. — Killing non-sorcerers? — It's an option, but I don't take it seriously. Do you? — Yuki pressed him with a loaded question. Suguru Geto thought of them all — Shoko, Nanami, Haibara, Riko, Kuroi, his parents, Satoru — and his chest filled with an unbearable pain, but also an incredibly monumental love, so much that it felt like it would stretch and burst at the seams of his heart that could not contain it. He thought of his father again, reading him "Night on the Galactic Railroad" when he was young, and he thought of Satoru reading his own copy now during his leisure nights. He thought of Giovanni and Campanella, and of the Scorpio of the night sky, and of the nobility of sacrifice, of setting yourself on fire to warm the world.

Satosugu ｜Finalized｜Long fic｜Also being published in Portuguese and on AO3

Chapters: I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI - XII - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII

Chapter XV: often it is the most deserving people who cannot help loving those who destroy them

A cloudy Monday preceded Satoru Gojo's birthday, which would take place on that Friday, the first of December 2007. The second week of punishment and forced vacation. Satoru, who was reaching the limits of sanity, offered to do Geto a favor: he offered to clean his room, do his laundry, help him train, and even organize the Jujutsu High library so he could find books more easily.

Overcome with exhaustion after so much insistence, Suguru entrusted him with the incredibly difficult task of sending some packages by mail to his parents. That would be enough for a calm morning.

Nanami and Haibara were training combat with short and medium-range weapons on the court, and Shoko and Suguru were watching them. Kento Nanami was on his way to being promoted to grade 1, and he wanted to be in top shape for it, working more intensely in the last few weeks to achieve that goal in an honorable manner.

— Where's Satoru? Hasn't he woken up yet? — Ieiri asked, looking up from the pathology book she was reading. The prolonged stillness was so unusual that it roused her from her study.

— He went to drop off some packages at the post office for me. — Geto said.

The clash of swords periodically generated thunderous sounds when both weapons met. The floor of the court emitted a peculiar noise with the sliding of the soles of Nanami and Haibara's shoes, a sharp and rapid sound.

— Did he offer to do it?

— Yeah, he said he wanted to do something for me, and I really needed to stop by the post office, so I let him do it. I don't know what happened to Satoru. — Suguru shrugged — He was saying that I always do things for him, that he has to do the same and whatever.

Shoko understood the reason for this change of behavior, of course. — He wants to feel useful, that's all. He wants to show you that you can count on him.

Haibara's sword flew through the air, hitting the ground. He slid to reach it, and managed to catch it at the last second before Nanami could kick it away, prolonging the fight for a little longer. The two had grown a lot compared to when they entered the school.

— I think I'm in love with Satoru, Shoko. I mean, I don't think, I know... — Suguru muttered, without taking his eyes off the fight.

— How long have you known it? — she asked back. The confession didn't surprise her at all.

— I don't know, but I only realized it recently.

Shoko sighed. — You two should talk and work things out, it would be so much easier...

Geto turned to her. — Do you think that he…?

Shoko Ieiri was sure that the feeling was mutual, not only because she became a listener to their confessions and problems and offered more advice than ever in her entire life, but also because she was forced to live with them and be eternally the third wheel of a couple who still didn't realize this. — Are you kidding? Anyone can see the tension between you two from a mile away, and it's been going on for months.

The door to the court opened with a bang, because the least discretive person in Tokyo and the metropolitan area had just returned to school. With a smile on his face and his hands on his hips in a superhero pose, Satoru Gojo announced his presence. Despite having expected applause and screams from fans, he only received a scolding from Nanami: — Get out of the way, idiot!

A blade almost accidentally hit him, after Kento kicked away the sword that Haibara was holding, taking advantage of the distraction. If it weren't for Limitless, he probably would have hit Gojo in the forehead. None of this seemed to dampen his good mood. — Nanamin, is this how you welcome me?

He had some bags with him from the convenience store, and took out bottles of sports drinks that he threw to each person. In addition, another of the bags contained current newspapers and magazines, published that week. Suguru picked up one of the newspapers, noticing a familiar face on the cover story: — Kaori Itadori…

— Do you know her? — Yu asked — She's in a lot of news reports these days.

— I saw her face in a newspaper on the train when I was going to the mission in the village. — Geto replied, thoughtfully — It's a weird scar, that's why I remembered the name.

— In the middle of the forehead… Pretty visible, and she didn't bother covering it with makeup. — Nanami observed. The absence of vanity is certainly a virtue, one could argue.

Shoko looked over his shoulder at the photo. — It's not a scar, it's a seal from a jujutsu technique. She's a sorcerer, probably.

Gojo sat on the other side of Suguru, pulling the newspaper a little closer to him. — And how do you know that?

She shrugged, not really knowing how to explain it, just thinking it was as difficult to pinpoint as it is to explain how the Reverse Cursed Technique works. Some things you just know.

Meanwhile, Suguru read the text of the report. Kaori Itadori, a young mother who abandoned her son and her career after the tragic death of her husband to become a Buddhist monk at a charitable organization… The Time Vessel Association. The mention of that name was enough to make Geto widen his eyes, perplexed, even though he quickly covered his reaction up; Satoru noticed the fleeting change of expression on his face but didn't comment. He understood it when he reached the same point in the article, which revealed that the Association did charitable work such as opening schools to teach poor children in villages in the inner parts of the country. It didn't seem like the kind of thing the cult would do. Kaori's wide smile, but devoid of emotion in her eyes, made anyone uncomfortable upon closer inspection.

— She's with the Association... She's their new leader. — Suguru whispered, still in disbelief. He still remembered the thank you letters he and Satoru received for stopping Riko's fusion with Master Tengen, feeling a chill run down his spine.

This provoked expressions of confusion and a certain level of fear from everyone. They had never disappeared, after all. — But what do they want, showing off like that? — Nanami said.

— It says here that they are building schools… — Haibara theorized — It could be true. She may have changed the direction of the organization, made internal changes, I don't know.

It was a remote possibility, and as a person who always believed in the kindness of others, he preferred to see it that way. Despite that, something about the woman was a little disturbing, and it could probably be explained by the absence of any liveliness behind her eyes: they were dull, like those of a fresh corpse, Shoko thought with a shudder.

— I hope you're right. — Suguru replied. He did not have that same hope.

Satoru got up from the floor, calmly, taking his cell phone out of his pocket. — I'll make a call and be right back. And Nanamin, you should work on your feet stance... They're too close together. If you move your feet apart, you’ll improve your balance. — Gojo said, with a friendly smile, while dialing a phone number. Geto watched him walk away feeling worried about what he might be about to do.

Long minutes passed, in tense silence. Nanami and Haibara still maintained their dispute, with a score of 3 to 0 for Kento — who, following Gojo's advice, kept his feet further apart and realized that he was right in suggesting this position; sometimes he managed not to be completely annoying and offer constructive criticism. Despite the periodic clang of the metal of the swords as they clashed, and the noise of the shoes dragging and sliding on the floor, Shoko fell asleep, overcome by tiredness; Geto marked the page of the book she was reading before taking it from her hands, laying her down on the bench where they were. He got up, uneasily, heading out of the court.

Satoru had just ended the call he intended to make. Unlike when he had first entered, looking excited, he was serious now, his face worried, his lips pursed in a curve of dissatisfaction. — I talked to Riko. I told her to be careful, and avoid this woman. Apparently, the news from the Association has already reached Okinawa…

— If that's the case, we'll need to get them out of there if the situation gets worse. — Suguru replied — Do you think they could still be after them?

Gojo shook his head negatively. — I don't know, but I don't wanna risk it. We need to increase security, for everyone... I’m worried about the kids too, if the cult isn't keeping an eye on them.

Thinking about it made his stomach churn, Suguru admitted to himself: it wouldn't be the first time they played low blow like that. He shouldn't have been surprised, and yet, part of him couldn't believe they would go this far... — Remember the letters they sent? Thanking us for our collaboration... I wonder if this wasn't planned a long time ago.

Suddenly, that whole convoluted plan, the surprise collaboration in the lie, everything made sense like pieces fitting into the puzzle. The two looked at each other, surprised, when they realized this fact.

— They draw the attention of the elders by killing the Star Plasma Vessel to stop Master Tengen's merging. After that, they disappear completely, remaining hidden for more than a year, under the leadership of a supposedly new person, who seems to be reforming the organization. The thing is that the higher-ups don't know that Riko Amanai didn't die, nor do they suspect that we're hiding her... You were right, Suguru: they're going to blackmail us. If the elders find out, they’ll consider us traitors. They’ll execute us. But the big question is: what do they want from us?

Geto didn't know the answer to that question. Money, power, influence, an alliance, or even the pure desire to destroy them or the jujutsu society, these were all valid options; the answer inevitably laid in Kaori Itadori, in what kind of person she was. — I don't know. But at the right time, they’ll get in touch, I'm sure of that... We have to prepare ourselves until then.

— Maybe we should tell Professor Yaga.

Silence. The two looked at each other, compliantly. Masamichi Yaga probably knew, or at least suspected, of their involvement in that incident in August of the previous year. He would probably be a good ally against the elders. It wasn't a bad idea at all...

— I think he'll understand... But he'll probably double our punishment. — Suguru theorized. The idea made Gojo laugh in despair, considering that the boredom and feeling of helplessness were killing him.

— I'll keep an eye on this Kaori Itadori in the meantime. I'll see what I can find out about her... — the other replied.

Geto opened his mouth to say something, then felt unable to say what he really thought (that going after this woman was a risk he didn't want him to take), and closed it again. He changed the subject. — What do you think Kaori Itadori wants? Building schools…

— It's probably something with the kids. Create an army of mini-zombie supporters, perhaps? If the plan was to lay low and go unnoticed by the government, there are a thousand other ways, and all of them are probably easier than creating and managing schools across the country. — Satoru suggested. The idea of indoctrination, of expanding the domains of the Time Vessel Association through a new generation of members who would never question its ideals, like disposable soldiers in a future war, did not seem unlikely: that was the objective of every cult, after all, to recruit more members... Something, however, didn't seem to add up: Master Tengen needs to go through a fusion every 5000 years to remain stable, and with Riko discarded now that the time frame had been lost, no one could know when the next Star Plasma Vessel would appear; it could take years, or even centuries, for another opportunity to arise; strengthening the cult for a plan in such a distant future seemed crazy.

— Either that, or they're trying to rival the jujutsu world by creating curse users. — Suguru observed. The possibility didn't make him any less worried either — Promise me one thing, Satoru.

— Anything.

— Promise me you won't do anything stupid. Don’t attack anyone first, don’t stir shit up. The best plan would be if the Association doesn't even find out that we know, the less they remember that we exist, the better. — Geto asked — Actually, I think I have an idea of someone who can help us look into them, I just need you to not do anything bad in the meantime.

Satoru saluted him, half serious, half joking. — Alright, alright, at your orders, Suguru. — he replied, holding him by the arm as if they were about to enter a dance hall — Let's go back inside, I need to piss off Nanamin some more. Forget all that. Let's think about good things. Why don't we do something fun today? We can watch a movie, or go out to eat, or do anything.

At other times, Suguru would not have paid the slightest attention to the proximity in which they found themselves, something so natural and usual, but today the mere touch made him feel goosebumps, a wave of anxiety growing inside him. He covered it all with a smile as they walked back to the court, despite how he truly felt, like a master of acting: — Let's go out to eat, then. You choose where, after all, your birthday is coming up… By the way, Satoru, what are you going to do next year, when we graduate?

— It depends, what are you going to do?

Geto thought for a moment. — I was thinking about becoming a teacher. It would be good, don't you think? We could help form a better generation of jujutsu sorcerers, and protect the weakest.

— Then I think I wanna be a teacher too. Besides, Professor Yaga would hate that… — Satoru replied, with a laugh. Despite this, he was serious deep down: — Protecting the weakest… Yeah, that would be cool.

Neither of them noticed before going in that the court was in perfect silence because three people were watching them through the window, seeming entertained by the whole situation. Haibara made Shoko put out the cigarette she was about to light out of pure frustration, before it attracted attention and they were discovered snooping around. Nanami simply sighed deeply, putting away his sword: — When are these two idiots going to do something, huh?

— You think I haven't already thought of that? — Shoko muttered, in response, with a grimace — Romance is gross.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugu #nanami kento #haibara yu #shoko ieiri #toji fushiguro #megumi fushiguro #kenjaku #writing #fanfiction #jjk fanfic

[spanishskulduggery]

Hi! I'm very curious about something regarding the Spanish language. I'm currently studying A2 Spanish but I had this question and my teacher did not seem too willing to discuss it. Here it goes:

I know that Spanish has, something my Spanish teacher says, linguistic gender. I was wondering how do the people who don't align themselves with the gender binary (masculine and feminine) speak/write in it? I have read this article about Spanish speaking people from US adding "x" Or "@" and people from Argentina using "e" to make the words gender neutral.

Thank you so much for responding, whenever you get to it. Also love your blog. ❤

Short answer, in general speaking terms people are tending towards the -e now because the other two are very hard to actually speak, and because Spanish-speakers feel the -e is more authentic

What you're most likely to see in Spanish is masculine plural as the default, or in written things you might see todos y todas or like un/una alumno/a "a student", or like se busca empleado/a "employees wanted" / "looking for an employee"

If it's something official or academic you typically include both [todas y todas] or you go masculine plural [todos] unless it's specifically feminine plural

-

Related, linguistic gender applies to all things, not just people. Why is la mesa "table" feminine, but el libro "book" masculine? Just linguistic gender. I can tell you that most loanwords (that aren't people) in Spanish are masculine, and that there are certain words that come from Greek are masculine, and that -ista words are unisex most of the time... And I can tell you there are some words like testigo or modelo that are unisex and don't change for gender. Aside from that, speaking about nouns and grammatical gender... those particular things are harder to parse for regular people, but if you go into the field of linguistics you can explore that more deeply. Some of it is source language (i.e. "it came from Latin this way") or things like that. And in general when talking about nouns it's unimportant and not considered sexist, that's just how it is.

There is such a thing where it gets a little too far the other way and people will say "history? what about herstory" which is a nice thought but the etymology has nothing to do with gender there

When it comes to people - and when it comes to gendered attitudes - that's where it gets more confusing and more complicated.

I believe there was an experiment where people had French and Spanish speakers [I believe it was Spanish] try to identify how a "fork" would sound. French people gave it a more feminine voice because "fork" is feminine in French, while Spanish speakers gave it a more masculine voice because it's masculine in Spanish.

Whether we like it or not, certain gendered things do influence our thoughts and feelings and reactions. A similar thing in English exists where the old joke was something like "There was a car accident; a boy is rushed to the ER and the surgeon but the father was killed. When they got to the ER the doctor said 'I can't operate on him, he's my son!'" and it's like "well who could the doctor be?" ...and the doctor is his mother. We associate "doctor" as masculine and "nurse" as feminine.

There's a gender bias in our language thought patterns, even though the language changes. And that does exist in Spanish too, to different extents.

There are certain cultural and gendered stereotypes or connotations attached to certain words, many tend to be more despective or pejorative when it's women.

For example - and I know this has changed in many places or it isn't as prevalent - el jinete "horseman/rider", while the female form is la amazona "horsewoman/rider". Because la jinete or la jineta was sometimes "promiscuous woman".

There were also debates about things like la presidente vs. la presidenta or what the female version of juez should be, whether it should be la juez or la jueza

Most languages with gendered language have varying degrees of this, and all languages I'm aware of have gendered stereotypes related to professions or cultural attitudes in some way, and not just for women, and not all in the same way with some of them being very culturally based

-

The longer answer involves a bit of history, and I'll be honest, some of it is contested or considered a little controversial in Spanish-speaking countries particularly in the conservative parts (which honestly should come as no surprise)

The first symbol that I know of that came about was the X

First piece of contested history: As far as I know, it was the trans/queer and drag communities in Latin America who started the trend of X. When there were signs or bulletins that had the gendered endings - specifically masculine plural as the default plural - people would write a big X through the O. This was a way of being inclusive and also a very smash the patriarchy move.

Some people attribute this to women's rights activists which may also be true, but a good portion of the things I read from people say it was the trans/queer/drag communities in Latin America doing this.

I've also read it originated in Brazil with Portuguese; still Latin America, but not a Spanish-speaking country.

Where it's most contested is that some people will say that this trend started in the Hispanic communities of the United States. And - not without reason - people are upset that this is perceived as a very gringo movement.

That's why Latinx is considered a very American-Hispanic experience

-

The arroba (@) is relatively new. I remember seeing it in the 2000s. I don't know if it existed earlier for gender inclusivity.

People used it because it looks like a combination of O and A, so it was meant to be cut down on saying things like todos y todas or niños y niñas in informal written speech

I remember quite a few (informal) emails starting like hola tod@s or muy buenas a tod@s or things like that

I think of it more as convenience especially in the information age where you never knew who you were talking to and it's easier than including both words, especially when masculine plural might be clumsy or insensitive

Still, it's practically impossible to use the @ in spoken Spanish, so it's better for writing casually. You also likely won't be allowed to use the @ in anything academic, but in chatrooms, blogs, or forums it's an option

-

I love the E ending. And the gender neutral form in singular is elle... so it's él "he", ella "she", and elle "they (singular)"

The -e ending is I think became more common within the past 10 years though it might have existed longer than that. These sorts of changes tend to come from the queer or trans communities and tend to be more insular before becoming more of an outside thing that then the general population finds out about

It came about because there are some adjectives in Spanish that end in -e that are unisex. It's not an A, it's not an O, but it's something grammatically neutral for Spanish

It's not as awkward as X, and E exists very firmly in Spanish so it's not perceived as some outside (typically gringo) influence

The good news is, it's pretty widespread on the internet. Not so much in person (yet), but especially in Spain and Argentina at least from what I've seen, particularly in the queer communities and online culture.

The only issues with it are that for non-native speakers, you have to get used to any spelling changes. Like amigo and amiga, but to use the E ending you have to add a U... so it's amigue.

That's because there are certain words where you have to do spelling changes to preserve the sound; gue has a hard G sound like -go does [like guerra]... but ge has the equivalent of an English H sound [gelatina for example]. Another one is cómico/a "funny" which would go to cómique. Again, because co has a hard C/K sound, while ce is a soft sound more like an S or in some contexts TH/Z sound; like centro is a soft sound, while cola is a hard sound

Unless you make it to the preterite forms where you come across like pagué, alcancé, practiqué with those types of endings... or subjunctive forms, pague, alcance, practique ... Basically you'd have to be exposed to those spelling rules or you'd be really confused if you were a total beginner.

It all makes sense when you speak it, but spelling might be harder before you learn those rules

The other drawback is that the E endings are sometimes not applicable. Like in damas y caballeros "ladies and gentlemen" there's not really a gender neutral variation on that, it's all binary there. And while la caballero "female knight" does exist, you'd never see a male variation on dama; the closest I've ever seen is calling a guy a damisela en apuros "damsel in distress" in some contexts where the man needs rescuing, and it's feminine una/la damisela, and it's very tongue-in-cheek

There are also some contexts like jefe vs jefa where I guess you would say jefe for "boss" if you were going the neutral route, but it's a bit weird because it's also the masculine option.

I can't speak for how people might feel about those if they're non-binary or agender because every so often you kind of get forced into the binary whether you like it or not

I totally support the E, I just recognize there are some limitations there and it's quirks of the Spanish language itself

Important Note: Just to reiterate, E endings are the ones most Spanish-speakers prefer because it's easiest to speak and doesn't have the American connotation that X does in some circles

-

Where it gets very "Facebook comment section" is that you'll see many Latin Americans traditionalists and conservatives claim that "this is just the gringos colonizing our language" and "grammatical gender doesn't matter in Spanish". They'll say that the "gender movement" is an American feminist movement and that it's a gringo thing and doesn't reflect actual Latin Americans or Spanish-speakers

Which on the one hand, yes, English does have a lot of undue influence on other languages because of colonization, and American influence and meddling in Latin American politics is a big important issue

But as far as I'm aware of the X (and especially the E) were created by Latin Americans

The other issue I personally have is that any time this conversation comes up, someone will say something like somos latinOs and claim that masculine plural is gender neutral

To that I say, first of all, "masculine plural" is inherently gendered. Additionally, there is a gender neutral in Spanish but it's lo or ello and it's only used with "it" so it sounds very unfriendly to use on an actual person... and in plural it looks like masculine plural and everything applies like masculine plural

Second, the reason masculine plural is default is because of machismo. It's more important that we don't possibly misgender a man, so it has to be masculine plural. It's changed in some places, but growing up when I was learning Spanish, if it was 99 women and 1 man you still had to put masculine plural

I'm not opposed to there being a default, and I understand why it's easier to use masculine plural, but some people get very upset at the idea of inclusive language

...

In general, my biggest issues with these comments come when people act like non-binary/queer/trans people don't exist in Spanish-speaking countries, like English invented them somehow. So it's nice to see linguistic self-determination and seeing native speakers using the E endings.

[ecoamerica]

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[sugako]

sweetness

osamu xf!baker!reader sum: your unrequited crush on the man you sell to is weighing heavily on you until one little party later it isn’t an issue cw: 18+ minors dni, a lil fluff, a lil angst (reader is sad bc they don't think samu feels the same), mentions of drinking/alcohol/party (no one is drunk during), kinda confessions, first time with each other, nipple play, oral (receiving) wc: 3.5k a/n: hi !! uhh i have had this is drafts for months bc i struggled to post it and idk why,, it's def a little longer than usual and little more plot-heavy(ish) but i hope you all enjoy pussy king samu <3

It felt as though you were admiring him from a distance even when he was standing right beside you.

The afternoon that the owner of Onigiri Miya had called up your small bakery to partner with his business you had been overjoyed. Honestly, you were still happy, it was just tinged by something deeper or different now. You were certainly still happy to sell your goods through the business, but your feelings had really gotten the better of you.

The day, actually the moment you met Osamu you told yourself to get over the petty crush you had developed within minutes of meeting him. His big, tall frame made you feel as though he could wrap his arms around you and everything would be okay. His pretty, steely eyes and soft features relaxed you, made you feel at home.

A week later you were groaning into your pillow when he texted a simple, polite compliment about your baked goods. Desperately, you hoped that the fuzzy feeling would melt away any day now.

Every single time you had to see him again and again to drop off your bi-weekly delivery, the feelings didn’t fade. If anything they grew stronger. The quick, comfortable banter you shared made your chest fill with molten gold that always seemed to harden into a tough little peach pit, strangling the words from your throat whenever you got back into your car.

A month later you were crying to yourself at 2 AM about how you couldn’t get over him even though you hadn’t even been close to a relationship. It was impossible. How were you supposed to get closure from someone you were merely business partners with.

You cursed the way your heart sped up when you got a new text from him. Over and over again you had to remind yourself that it was purely business.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Hi, do you want to swing by tomorrow? Lunch is on me

Fingers swiped over the keyboard, groaning as you asked what you should bring for the restock, not realizing it had been two weeks already.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Everything is selling fast, but I won’t need anything for a bit, just wanted to chat not about business

Without hesitation you agreed. Even if you were sure he didn’t feel the same, it wouldn’t hurt to keep up a personal relationship with a business. The fact that he had texted you deep into the night without prompt didn’t make it into your busy mind.

Those two little texts were how you found yourself taking a deep breath outside the Onigiri Miya a little after the lunch rush. You stepped into the nearly empty building, immediately greeted by Osamu’s soft, low voice.

“I have to run to the back, but I put a plate for you out.” He calls, disappearing just as the door closes behind you.

It’s painful to admit how your heart swells at the gesture. Your favorite onigiri of his is neatly plated in front of a corner seat at the bar. The two other people on the opposite side of the store are quietly chatting, paying no mind while you settle into your seat. Before you can take a bite he’s bustling back in.

“Sorry ‘bout that, got a call.” He says, leaning over the counter in front of you. The way his broad chest is squished by his shoulders.

“No worries.” You say just before biting into the food. He snatches one of the rice balls from your plate, but your mouth is too full and you’re too grateful to protest. “So,” you begin after you swallow, “what did you want to talk about?”

You can’t tell whether the air is thick with awkward tension or if it’s just you.

“I mean, obviously not business.” As you speak, a strangled, little chuckled forces its way out of the back of your throat, but you take another bite of food before it gets out of hand.

He’s silent for a moment, slowly chewing his food. Maybe savoring it or maybe thinking, you can’t quite tell which.

“Can you take nights off from the bakery? I remember you saying ya do a lot of baking and prepping at night.” His expression is impossible to read and you want to tell him that this is, at least for you, business talk, but you hold back and simply answer the question.

“Well, yeah, if I needed to. Uh, why?” You catch how his shoulders tense and lower, his eyes shifting across the windows in the front. Unfortunately, his own anxiety does very little to quell any of your own.

“My brother is having a party and I’m… obligated to go, but I won’t know many people there, they’ll all be his teammates, so I was wondering if you would like to go with me? If you don’t have a… I mean, if you don’t have any plans.” His expression remains still, but there’s a small flush in his cheeks that you catch on immediately. Something in your heart softens with hope.

“You’re twin volleyball brother?” You ask, biting back a smile. “Also, you’ll have to tell me what time the party is and then I’ll let you know if I have plans, but I’m probably free.”

The flush deepens as he recognizes his mistake and slowly blinks, shaking his head. “Yes, ‘Tsumu, the volleyball brother. And the party is next Friday. Around nine.”

Within the limited time you’d spent with him he’d told you about his brother and his old friends. Confidence growing, but not quite steady, you uneasily treaded into your next words.

“Yeah, I’m not working next Friday actually, so that sounds good. Should I text you for the address or…?”

“Meet me here, I can take you. Best to take the train, but it’ll be easier if we go together.”

Deep in the center of the city, standing close enough to smell the soft fragrance of cologne, you still weren’t sure how easily you had ended up here at the house party filled with strangers hosted by your customer’s pro athlete brother. It was a little much to think about if you took too much pause. Before you could slip into your own brain too much your cheek smushed into the thick muscle of Osamu’s solid back that had suddenly stopped moving, and as you sputtered out an apology the door swung open without him even knocking.

“Hey! Did you really not a-” The blonde mirror image of the man standing directly in front of you eats whatever words are about to spill out of his mouth when he notices you peeking out from beside Osamu. Realizing how ridiculously childish you must look tucked away behind him, you clear your throat and step out so you’re by his side instead.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You say politely, extending a hand for him to shake. Atsumu’s eyes flit between you and his brother, not bothering to hide a smirk.

“Oh, I know.” He finally says when he takes your hand. Out of sheer embarrassment or maybe anxiety, you feel pricks of heat chase out to your fingertips. The sensation is only compounded by Osamu’s feather-light touch that grazes the small of your back as he tries to lead you past his brother.

“Really,” you start, with a sly little smile, “he’s told me about you’re very impressive-”

“Okay.” Osamu says a little too sharply. He’s glad you’re at ease, but less glad that you’ve immediately taken to lightly teasing him with his brother. “Let’s head in.” The warm breath of his whisper jolts through you and you find yourself nodding, letting his touch lead you.

Just as the door is closing behind you and the excruciating reverb of the music seeps into your ears, you barely catch what Atsumu mumbles before he slips into the crowd of people. “Maybe you’ll finally show her how much ya like her.”

Osamu doesn’t respond, and for a second you think maybe he didn’t hear him, but the way his fingers dig into your back tells you otherwise. You simply pretend that you heard nothing, pointing to the drink dispensers lined up on the kitchen counter across the room. After a quick drink of the sweet, burning mystery drink and after Atsumu started to keep his distance - too busy hounding his one teammate with the dark curls whose name you couldn’t quite remember - things went smoothly.

Time passed quickly, helped on by the dozens of new people you were introduced to. The small talk and repetitive questions had you mentally winded, but Osamu’s constant touch whether on your elbow or back or shoulder grounded you. Instead of feeling your heart race as it usually did when he was near, you only felt calm.

It all came crashing down sometime deep into the night when most of the guests had headed home and those left over passed out, scattered everywhere about the house. Well, everywhere aside from the neat guest bedroom tucked away toward the back that Osamu had pulled you back to when the last man (who had drunkenly tried teaching you how to say ‘volleyball’ in Portuguese) had finally passed out.

The single drink you had gulped down hours ago was long gone from your system, but even without it you still found it easy to speak with him, even as his arms inconspicuously wrapped around your torso and brought you down to lie beside him on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling for a moment while the two of you remained in short silence, a thought came to your head, another thing you want to tell him or ask him. You’re not sure which because in the next moment, when you whip your head to face him, he does the same.

If you had been any closer your faces would’ve smashed together. Any farther away and you wouldn’t be brushing lips. Just as soon as the touch begins, it ends with you scrambling away, stopped from falling off the bed by his strong arm wrapping around and pulling you back to his chest. The silence thickens with every second that neither of you speak, but he thankfully breaks it within the minute.

The words fumble around the front of your mouth like your mouth is numb. “I’m so sorry that-!”

“Well, that wasn’t really a proper kiss.” He says plainly, a smile barely etching its way onto the corner of his lips.

“N-no, it was not.” You whisper. It doesn’t quite feel real when he kisses you for real, and for a second you’re worried you’ve deluded yourself. You sigh into his firm touch, finally releasing the tension in your chest and letting your own lightly trembling hands trace up the space between your chests to settle against his. His body is softer than you had thought it would feel, somehow so much more comforting and homey than you could have imagined.

After an endless moment, his mouth strains against yours as he forces himself to pull away with a little huff. Your eyes find his, bright and hopeful, and still a little bit surprised. Between all your personal longing and resignation that he didn’t feel the same, you hadn’t noticed the way he smiled more when you were nearby, the little blush that dusted his cheeks when you complimented his cooking that first time, and so much more.

“Wanted to do that for a long time.” He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours and letting his heavy eyes close. Hiding your grin in his chest, you nod, wrapping your arms around him and snuggling in closer. When your knee glides against his thigh in an attempt to get more comfortable and flush to him, he clears his throat. “We should get changed if we’re going to sleep here. I have extra clothes in the dresser.”

“Okay.” You nod slightly, not wanting to move just yet. He seems to be with you because, despite his own words, he remains exactly in place with his grip just as tight as ever around your waist. “...Samu?” You finally ask, pulling back far enough to look up at him.

“I wanna kiss you again.”

“Okay,” you repeat, “then kiss me again.” The crooked, giddy smile you’re giving him seems to tense him up even more.

He inhales deeply through his nose, eyes darkening as they flicker across the planes of your face. “I wanna, but I don’t want to push this unless you feel the same.”

If your tired heart could vibrate any harder it would probably be bursting out of your chest.

“Well, I feel that we should kiss again,” you press a peck to his cheek hoping it’ll steady your next vulnerable words, “because I’ve thought about you a lot, and I really like this.” You emphasize your words by glancing down at the negative space between your bodies and running your hand up the built expanse of his shoulders.

Humming, he cradles the back of your head, gracefully moving to straddle you and ghost his lips over yours. “In that case, tell me when to stop.” The hot breathy fan of air from his whisper barely hits your cheeks before he’s pressing a deep kiss against your lips.

You slot together like perfect puzzle pieces, limbs finding the just the right spots to fit into. Mouths move desperately, passionately and without thinking your fingers start dancing under the hem of his shirt, brushing against the hot skin beneath. With a tempered groan, he uncouples his lips from yours, kissing along your jaw and quickly moving to trace down your neck. The kitten nips and licks against your collarbone send electricity through your bones, forcing you to flex into him, hips awkwardly jutting forward for something more.

“You… you, ah, are so perfect.” You pant, eyes blinking wide open when the calloused tips of his fingers roughly trail under your shirt, up your sides, stopping just short of your chest to flip your shirt up.

Groaning so quietly you barely hear him, he buries himself between your breasts and sighs against your skin. “Yer even more beautiful up close and without all this,” he pauses for the briefest moment to undo your bra and lift it over your head with the shirt, “extra stuff on.”

Scoffing out a short giggle, you relax back, watching how his eyes drink you in as though they’ve been starved. “By extra stuff you mea-!” The quip is promptly cut off by the feeling of his mouth latching around one breast, the other being tended to by his opposite hand. Not a moment later he pulls away, smiling as you let out a pitchy whine.

“Yer pretty mouthy when yer comfortable, huh?” He mumbles, lips ghosting over your nipple while the one in his hand continues to be teased.

“N-no,” you rush to disagree. Judging by the eye roll he gives you, he doesn’t seem to believe you, but he doesn’t say anything more, simply bringing his attention back to your chest.

The way his suckles tiny, bright purple marks into your skin sends heat pooling into your stomach, hips noticeably grinding up against him now. As the seconds drag on, he doesn’t seem interested in anything other than your tits, enamored with the way they feel in his hand and mouth. It’s almost too much, and you feel your stomach tightening with every moment the teasing continues.

“Samu,” you whine softly, “samu, please, can’t s’too much, really need…” The words are jumbled and garbled. You can’t quite sort your brain to come up with anything coherent, distracted by the wet pooling in your underwear and the weight of his body crowding over yours.

“Sensitive tits?” He coos with a sharp glint in his eyes, gears obviously moving in his head for the future. “That’s okay,” he continues while pressing a soft kiss to each of your breasts, “What do you really need?”

“Need you to touch me.”

For a second, his mouth opens but he doesn’t speak. You fear he’s going to tease you, make you explain in lewd detail how bad you need him and where you want him to touch you, but he doesn’t. He simply nods, truthfully too caught up in the intoxicating feeling of your body and too impatient to feel you for the first time to drag this out.

“Good girl, I’m gonna take these off.” He starts, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear to take them off together. Without hesitation, his eyes travel between your legs. “Such a pretty, little cunt.” He hums already squeezing in between your thighs. Obviously distracted, he peppers little kissed up the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, still caught up staring at your soaking mess.

“Samu, please…” You whine. While you know he isn’t purposefully teasing, well you don’t know but you don’t think at least, it’s just as frustrating. Your knees lock around his thick shoulders, pulling him closer to your heat.

“Okay, okay, pretty girl.” He grumbles, lapping right at the crook of your thigh and hip. There’s a split second of tense silence wherein he carefully spread your lips admiring the glisten of your slick under the dim light of the lamp. Your entire body is tense with anticipation, legs shaking as they struggled to spread around his wide frame.

And just like that quiet moment is over - he laps you up so desperately and greedily you’re twitching under his grasp, clawing at the wrinkled bed sheets below you for anything to ground you. He doesn’t stop when he shifts your legs over his shoulders and wraps his hands around the bottom of your tummy to keep your jostling hips in place.

When you finally look back down to grab his hand, keeping a vice grip around his fingers, you also glance down for the first time. His dark, hazy eyes meet yours and you completely relax at last.

The feeling doesn’t last long, not when he pushes his tongue into your tight, unprepared hole, slurping all he can get and pushing in as far as he can go. Osamu’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation, your cum dribbling down his chin and coating up to his nose that keeps brushing against your throbbing clit.

With a solid, squelching pop he tears away from you. “Taste so good,” he heaves, lips coming back even as he’s speaking, ghosting over you. He buries himself in your cunt again, this time focusing solely on your clit, cycling through different motions until he finds the one that makes your hips strain under his sturdy hold.

“Feel so good!” You sigh. “Please, please wanna cum.”

Smirking against you, he takes the hand you’re not clinging to back under your thigh and props it against your ass, slowly teasing a finger in. Absolutely gushing now, it slips in easily. You can feel his smile grow again for a moment before he refocuses on your clit, motions speeding up and increasing the pressure with which he worked. It’s impossible to not shudder under him now, especially with one arm only holding you down.

“C’mon, pretty girl, cum.” He murmurs, easily hooking a second finger into you, pumping and curling them in time with his tongue. As he feels you flutter and cream he can’t help but rut into the mattress, cock swelling from the taste of you. The pressure inside is too much and your want to let go is pushing you closer and closer, although it’s his mouth and fingers that really push you forward.

“C-cu-!” The words get trapped in your throat, overtaken by a hushed moan you struggle to bite back, trying - but very much failing - to be mindful of all the half-sleeping people strewn through the house. He slowly brings you down, fingers winding down and tongue lapping up your swollen clit while you convulse at his touch in time with the fluttering of your cunt.

At last, you have to drag him off, needily tugging up on his hands until he lets go. You try to pull him in to kiss, but he hesitates, his strength far outweighing your weak, blissful one and he hovers above you. There’s no reason to ask because almost immediately his fingers that were inside of you, absolutely drenched, come up to his mouth so he can make a show of sucking them dry for you.

“Taste even better than the stuff you make.” He sighs, letting you drag him down to your face. You can smell and taste yourself so strongly on his damp lips, it clouds your already hazy senses.

“Hmm,” you manage out, when he rests his entire body weight against yours, lips pressed into the side of your head. It’s only when you go to shift that you feel him pressing so incredibly hard and flush to you exposed skin through his soft pants, that you perk up. “Samu,” you begin brushing your fingers through his soft, dark hair, “can I...wanna help you.”

“Mhmm,” he nestles against your neck, kissing over the spots he left behind earlier, “in a minute, pretty girl, we have a lot of time ahead of us.”

#osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #osamu smut #miya osamu smut #osamu miya smut #hq smut

[needcake]

whumptober 2021, day 3: taunting

.

.

The King of Northern Lusitania.

That was what his Marshal claimed to be now that he had taken the country without resistance.

France could barely conceal his disgust. The Marshal, standing by the window of a house he had confiscated from a noble family that had fled to Brazil along with the court, seemed to have forgotten for a moment that, although he had been appointed Ambassador to Portugal in the years before the invasion, he was far, far, from the succession line of the new country they would create after partitioning Portugal into three, and that this insubordination would not go unnoticed once the news of his claims reached Paris.

But this was a matter for another time. His last conversation with Spain before coming to Lisbon had left him with a persistent headache and his patience was wearing a little too thin.

“Is he here?” he limited himself to ask and the Marshal informed him that no, the man he wanted had been moved to another location after his last escape attempt. “Take me to him, then.”

He cared very little for the thoughts the Marshal was entertaining in his head as he stared at France, but the longer he went without complying to his order, the more France felt like breaking his nose.

At last a junior officer was called upon and he was taken down the street to an unmarked door, past the two soldiers posted at the entrance with their weapons on their shoulders, and up two flights of marble stairs. All the furniture and the ornaments in the house had been removed, every painting, every object on display, even the chandeliers. Of their existence, only the empty squares of faded color remained on the wallpaper.

The empty corridors echoed their footsteps and the young man guided him to a door at the far end, pulled a heavy keychain from his pocket and unlocked the door.

“I’ll have that now,” he told him and extended his hand. He hesitated, his eyes darting between France’s tight lips to the insignias in his uniform. He deposited the set of keys on France’s white gloves and stood at attention. “You can go wait downstairs now.”

He waited until the young officer had nodded and complied, his steps fading in the distance, before he breathed deeply in. The ache in his head was killing him.

The first thing he saw after he pushed the door open was Portugal’s furious green eyes, his body a shadow against the wall in the dark room.

“It’s a lovely day outside, you should open the curtains,” he said as he locked the door behind him. Portugal remained in silence, still glaring at him. France huffed a breath and walked to the window himself, throwing the curtains open and allowing light to enter the room. Portugal squinted at the sudden change in luminescence, but he soon glared at him again.

France allowed himself a small smirk.

“Do you remember when father dragged you back after your brilliant escape attempt while he was in the East? You looked at him like that too.”

“And he beat me,” Portugal said, his voice a little hoarse. From disuse, France presumed.

“Ah, yes,” he said lightly, unbuttoning his gloves. “Castile wouldn’t leave your bedside.”

“You said I deserved it.”

France held his gloves in one hand; looked at him in the eye. “You did.”

The growl that escaped his lips as he surged in his direction would have amused him were France not in such a terrible mood. Tackling him to the floor and twisting his arm behind his back took less effort now than when they were children.

He pressed his knee over his spine and Portugal stopped struggling, breathing hard into the wooden floorboards.

“You never learn, Ulterior,” he whispered above him, watching Portugal turn his head and snarl at him for the choice of name. “I’ll always win.”

“Get off me,” Portugal spat, but France only settled his weight more firmly down on him.

“You have always been too angry to be good at fighting, Portugal. Stop struggling before you hurt yourself.” He felt him breathe deeply a few times, but his body was still too coiled, still too tense for France to release him just yet.

He looked around the room and saw that it had been stripped bare of its ornaments as well. Only a few pieces of furniture remained.

“Father would have been disgusted with the way we treat our prisoners,” he commented out loud and felt Portugal shift beneath him.

“Stop calling Rome that,” Portugal said, but his voice was lower, his body less resistant.

“Why?” France asked, lowering his body over Portugal’s. “We’re sons of Rome, you and I. Us and the Italies are all that’s left.”

“Romania is still alive,” Portugal countered quietly, the fight finally draining from him, his fingers unclenching behind his back.

“That he is,” France whispered into his ear, brushed his lips against the soft cartilage and felt him shiver in his grasp. “Don’t worry, I’ll find him eventually.”

He released Portugal’s arm and felt his eyes on his back as he got to his feet and walked over to the bed.

“What was the nickname Castile had for you when we were kids?” he asked, sitting on the feather mattress, tucking his hair behind his ear. Portugal got up gingerly from the floor, dusted the knees of his simple cotton trousers.

“Lusi,” Portugal whispered, the word heavy in his mouth, laden with memories France did not know and did not care to know. He hummed, undoing the fastenings on his collar and breathing a little easier.

“Did you have a nickname for him as well?”

France followed Portugal’s eyes down his chest as he continued to undo the buttons of his uniform coat and smiled to himself.

“Dickhead,” Portugal told him and France snorted, undoing the buttons on his waistcoat next. “Yours was Asshole.”

He laughed, shrugging off his outer clothes and folding them carefully by his side, the pressure on his head somewhat subsided now that he had removed his heavy, hot uniform. Portugal’s eyes were trained on him, still standing a few feet away, still hesitant and wary.

“Come here,” he called, extending a hand towards him and watching with some amusement as Portugal’s face contorted into a frown. Huffing an impatient breath, he rose to his feet and went to him instead.

Portugal seemed somewhat smaller, dwarfed by a too big linen shirt and his simple brown cotton trousers. But his body was still the same as France remembered when he pulled him closer, his arms still strong and hardened by years at sea, his eyes still a pale shade of green when he looked at him.

“You are always so difficult,” he told him, settling his hands on the curve of his hips, watching his eyes as he looked down at France’s lips. “Always stubborn as a mule.”

His hands came to rest on his chest, neither to push him away nor to pull him closer, and France sighed, pushed his hair back over his shoulder, ghosted his fingers across his face.

“He is not going to come for you,” he said and Portugal’s eyes turned to his, the soft skin around them tightening slightly in worry. “England has what he wants now that Brazil’s ports are open to him.”

The hands on his chest gripped his shirt, but there was no more fight in them, no more blind, raging anger. “You’re lying,” Portugal whispered quietly, but his voice was thin, threadbare, doubt creeping into his words, taking hold of his thoughts.

“England doesn’t need you anymore,” he continued, petting his hair, caressing his cheekbones, his jaw, his ear. “But you already knew this, didn’t you?”

His fingers slackened, the last wall of his resistance crumbling under his words and France leaned in, brushed his lips against his. “Oh, Lusi,” he whispered, “Aren’t you tired of fighting?”

Portugal's mouth opened beneath his lips and France smiled, “Don’t you want to come home?”

 --

Notes:

In 1807, French Marshal Jean-Andoche Junot led the French army across Spain to seize Portugal in November 30. When he reached Lisbon, however, he was able to see the tails of the ships that took the Portuguese royal family and the court across the Atlantic to Brazil, which effectively saved the Portuguese Empire from falling into Napoleon's hands, but caused them to lose the mainland territory.

After taking control of the country, Junot seized what was left of the Treasury and any wealth available that had been left behind in the escape. He also put in motion the partition of the territory as devised by Napoleon, which would divide Portugal into three, granting the Southern portion to Spain's PM, Manuel de Godoy, keeping the middle part for France itself and giving away the Northern part to the King of Etruria. Junot, however, who had been France's Ambassador to Portugal during 1804-05, decided to proclaim himself as King of Northern Lusitania. Napoleon was not amused.

As part of the agreement to help the royal family escape Napoleon, the Portuguese regent, future João VI, opened Brazil’s ports to British trade, which had suffered under Napoleon’s Continental System and US neutral policy. At the time, Portugal and her colonies were responsible for consuming around half of Britain’s exports. That trade was thus protected after being moved to Brazil, which in turn made the continental territory of Portugal redundant.

However, the partition of Portugal never took place because in May 1808, after trying to double-cross Spain and take control of the territory, the Spanish revolted and the Portuguese followed in June. In August, the British sent troops under the command of Arthur Wellesley, future Duke of Wellington, and the French were forced to leave Portugal in what would be the first of three attempts to take control of the country.

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #taunting #hetalia #fic #emotional manipulation #peninsular war #hws portugal #hws france #fraport #a wild fic appears #if you don't like france being a dick this is not for you #mild makeout

[somedaytakethetime]

No I don't have one (yet) but i would looove to have more of those lists from players maybe about bodycount OR their links 😩

Yeah I am German sorry for the "und"

I'll go with body count first because it's "easier" than kinks (I'll take 30 years to write all the kinks down... bear with me on that one soon xD) Please don't apologise I loved that und there because it's one of the few German words I actually understand!!

Okay, *cracks knucles* here we go: Players and... "how much of a hoe are these man" edition!

Manuel Neuer - I have a feeling his body count is both higher and lower than I'm thinking.... which around 20 in my head Kasper Schmeichel - like 2 or 3, *maybe* 5... possibly even less, I just can't imagine him with anyone other than Stine xD Simon Kjær - for some reason I have a feeling he got around a bit? He was BEAUTIFUL when he was a bit younger (he's still BEAUTIFUL now but we're talking model good looks without the beard and the longer hair in like I think 2000-something) so I'd guess a bit less than Manuel but higher than Kasper so: 8? 10? more? Łukasz Piszczek - oh man... he's so pretty but for some reason I feel like people aren't as into him as they should be, I'd say 20-28 possibly a bit more. Mats Hummels - oh man... *snickers*... hum-hum he's HOT but also I feel like women pass him over a lot? But I'd say 25+ but less than 35, but who knows... he's probably gotten around a bit. Gregor Kobel - I have a feeling around like 10?... once again, I feel like he isn't as looked at as he should be. Marco Reus - why do I feel like he's a hoe?..... I don't know but I just do... 50+ (women and men) Leon Goretzka - I... can't see this dude being a ladies' man? I just can't?? I think it's the Twinkeon phase... I'll say around 12, sounds like a good number Federico Chiesa - he didn't have that many before, but starting now? Oh... he's about to get those numbers UP... so far though? like 5 Leonardo Bonucci - I can see this man crushing puss but at the same time I CAN'T see this man crushing puss.... about 28-30 Nicolò Zaniolo - *snickers**chokes*.... hum-hum.... 3 or 4.... *looks at camera like in the Office**snickers* (that's sarcasm by the way, he's a hoe) Alessio Romagnoli - I CAN'T SEE HIM BE A LADIES' MAN!! I JUST CAN'T HE SEEMS WAY TO SHY AND SWEET!! I'll say like 3. Ciro Immobile - HOE!! this man as had all the experiences in his youth! I'll go with a 30+ but less that 55. Davide Calabria - he's still young, he hasn't gotten around all that much... 8? 9? Matteo Pessina - I don't think he's gotten around much, probably only like 5 or so... Manuel Locatelli - WHORE!! WHO *HASN'T* THIS MAN HAD?? DID YOU SEE HIM ON THAT PITCH THAT ONE TIME?? HE'S HAD *ALL* OF THEM! Eric Dier - I feel like he's a way bigger whore than people give him credit for, he seems all low-key and nice... he's crushing puss when no one notices... especially during his years in Portugal? I'm sure Portuguese women threw themselves at him and back when he had the Prince Eric Hair? SO MUCH PUSS RAINING DOWN! I'll give like 35+ up to 45 Hugo Lloris - not that many, but he is French and the French are charming.... around 20 Rúben Dias - *snickers*.... a lot of them.... have you seen how naked he is all the time? around 25-35 Ben Chilwell - if we're going by the rumours? He's had all of England going twice around.... xD Andriy Shevchenko - this man crush puss like crazy! I can feel it! Around 35+ Paolo Maldini - another one!! IT WAS THE EYES!! HE GOT THEM ALL WITH THE EYES!! 38-40 Peter Schmeichel - 👀👀👀 Scorpio..... Tall Blonde Dane..... I'll let you guess... Jürgen Klopp - THIS IS A LADIES' MAN!! THIS MAN CAN GET THEM ALL!! HE'S JUST KIND ENOUGH TO LEAVE SOME FOR THE REST OF THEM!! 55+ Giovanni Di Lorenzo - he's cute and he seems like a naughty bastard.... around 20 Patrick Cutrone - he's young, he's precious, he's adorable, I love him, he's my cinnamon roll AND PEOPLE DON'T LOVE HIM LIKE THEY SHOULD!! 10 Roman Bürki - WHORE!! but he was a shy whore... I still remember the time.... I'll say around 30 John Stones - *snickers*.... a saint..... definitely has never gotten around... ever..... *cackling* Thomas Müller - Lisa and Lisa *only*, he's never wanted anyone else. he's like Kasper I just can't even see them with anyone else but their wives. maybe made out with like 3 girls before Lisa Marco Rose - DILF could always get it, and he probably still does. 30+ Pepe Guardiola - I think this man is so sexy... DON'T JUDGE ME! I think he's crushed some before he got married... around 23 Benjamin Pavard - he's French, he's a Himbo, he's got abs, and he

can sweet talk the skin off a snake... he also likes MILFs... and he's also young though.... around 17 Adrien Rabiot - none of them. have you met his mother? women are terrified of going near him (NOT ME ADRI I CAN MATCH YOUR DEMON MOTHER PLEASE!!) Jan Vertonghen - ALL.OF.THEM.!!! ALL!!! there's rumours about this dude but I won't touch of them because I think they are super disrespectful... but.... he looks like a total magnet that's all I'll say.... Matty Cash - I barely know anything about him, he seems young and sweet.... 5? Kevin Trapp - OOF!! not as many as people think, I think a lot of women would be intimidated by how pretty he is. around 10-20? Thomas Delaney - I've heard the song they made about him back when he played in Denmark... he could still get it but he's a loving husband now. I'll say he also is shy and sweet and he probably didn't even realise women were hitting on him before his wife. xD Nicolò Barella - a baby... that also has a baby... I'll say his girlfriend and maybe like 3 others? Oliver Giroud - in his youth? oh boy!! also... the rumours.... he's gotten around... he's French and smexy after all....

#also yes i know Zaniolo also has a baby but he has the absentee father energy.... #i need to start tagging these #players and... lists #there it's tagged nwo #ask

[rarephloxes]

elucienweek, flower prompt. 

sorry girls!!! I’m late!! Hope it still counts though :)))))))

for @elucienweek <3

rating: G

wc: ≈3.3k

warnings: none!! they just go on a date!!! and bring each other flowers!!

psa: my first language is Portuguese! And this is also the first thing I’ve even written and posted! Ever! So, I’m nervous!! Lol! Enjoy!! Also: outfits link at the bottom!!

~*~

  Elain flitted through her bedroom excitedly, her nerves jittery and drowned in thoughts of the day she was about to have.  

 “But what do you think I should wear?” Elain asked her sister, Feyre, who was just a laughing face in the screen of her phone.  

 “Put me on FaceTime,” Elain’s phone speaker told her “I’ll help you pick.”  

 “Can you add Nesta to the call, please?” Elain asked, eyeing the clothes hanging in her wardrobe confusedly, brows wrinkled.  

  With a sigh, she sat down at her vanity, the gleaming glass of her perfumes and pretty makeup containers beckoning her.  

 Feyre’s laughing face, a picture taken by Rhys, her sister’s husband, winked out to be quickly replace by Feyre's and Nesta’s profile pictures.  

 (Elain knew she ought to be used to the fact that her sister was wed, for she had gone to her wedding wearing a beautiful pink dress matching the few other bridesmaids. She had even danced with Rhysand’s broody brother, Azriel, and overall had a great deal of time, but it was still weird thinking of her baby sister as a wedded woman. Who also was, uselessly, trying to pretend not to be pregnant).  

“Good morning,” Nesta greeted them, a little bleary eyed “What’s this about?”  

 “Did you just wake up?” Asked Feyre with a knowing smile on her lips. Elain knew that if said smile was directed to herself, she’d blush. “It’s nearly 3PM,”  

 “Oh, well,” responded Nesta with a carefully crafted absent-minded smile “You know how Cassian can be... energetic,”  

 “Nesta!” Elain, despite her best wishes and her sister’s rather tame answer, blushed while applying her mascara “Can we please focus on the matter at hand? I really need some help,”  

 “And what, exactly, is this matter?” Nesta inquired.  

 “It’s Elain’s third date with Mr. Mystery Man,” Feyre slightly static voice answered. Elain’s phone had never been quite the same after she accidentally potted and watered it with one of her apartment plants.  

 “Oh! I didn’t know you and MMM had gotten to the third date phase!” Nesta replied with a note of enthusiasm, the buzz of a coffeemaker as her background noise “A rather early time of day for a third date, though, isn’t it?”  

 Elain bristled slightly, but Feyre answered first “It’s a picnic date, Nesta. It wouldn’t be the same if was later. And besides, it’ll be just the right time for they to see the sunset,” Feyre frowned “Did you really just wake up?”  

 “I was taking a nap,” Nesta supplied with her mouth hidden by a mug covered in book details, a library’s name scripted around it “What can I say? Cass really wore me out,”  

 “Girls, please, please, can we stay on topic?” Elain pleaded a little, “I really do need help.”  

 “Oh, those are lovely lashes, Elain” Feyre praised from where Elain’s phone was propped in her vanity. Elain, now applying her blush until she looked somewhat sunburned, questioned “Do you like it? I glue them underneath my lash line, see? It looks nice, doesn’t it?”   

 Perhaps sensing the bit of anxiety on her middle sister’s face, Nesta said “It looks beautiful, Elain. MMM will not even know what hit him”. 

 Smiling at her sister’s compliment, Elain stood up and angled her phone to the side, widening the camera range to the view of her bed and bathroom door.  

 “So,” Elain started, slightly out of frame as she scoured her clothes for something fitting, “I thought maybe a dress? No pants or shorts because I bought a charcuterie board and really am planning to eat the cake Lu... I mean, Mr. Mystery Man-” Elain stopped herself with a laugh, what a silly nickname, dear Gods. Of course, Feyre would come up with something like that “- is going to bring, so nothing constricting in the belly area,”  

 “Ooh! I know! What about the white dress? With the blue flower print?” Feyre suggested.  

 “White? Feyre, a white dress for a picnic? I’m aware you live in a palace and has the wealthiest man in the land of the free to pay for your every wish, but please remember some of us have to do laundry” Nesta said, a laugh woven in her teasing.  

 Before Feyre could answer, Elain interrupted the seemingly lighthearted argument lest she lost her sisters to an everlasting word brawl “It’s cute, Feyre, you’re right. But, Nesta has a point. I don’t want any grass stains on it.”  

 “Besides, I thought I could wear my strawberry dress,” Elain said, placing a pink dress in front of her robe clad form.  

 “Oh, that’s cute,” said Nesta.  

 “Yeah, really pretty,” agreed Feyre.  

 “Then why do you both sound so unsure?”  

 “It’s just that it is a little plain,” Feyre explained carefully.  

 “It’s a 500-dollar dress,” Elain defended “And it has strawberries in it!”  

 “Yes, of course,” Nesta complied, “But maybe something with sleeves less... puffy? Or without a childish print?”   

 Feeling a little defeated, Elain nodded.  

 Afterward, the pile of clothes on her bed rapidly grew and with it Elain’s anxiety.  

 “Gods, nothing looks good,” Elain said, hating the whiny tone of her voice.  

 “Wait, wait!” Nesta startled “What of that sage green dress?”  

 The little dying light in Elain’s chest glittered.  

 “The one from Reformation?” Elain asked hangers chiming while she reached for the dress.  

 “Isn’t it a bit too fancy?” Feyre replied, uncertain.  

 “He is really well dressed,” mused Elain, looking at herself in the mirror, sage dress draped over her front “So you think this matches well with my white Fendi boots?”  

 “Won’t the boots be uncomfortable for a sitting on the ground date?” Nesta countered, voice muffled by the running water she was using to rinse her mug, coffee long gone by then.  

 “Well, I guess,” Elain acceded just as another dress caught her eye, “YES! I think I found the one!”  

 “Let us see it then!” Feyre asked around a mouthful of something.  

 “Wait, let me put it one first” said Elain before skittering out of view.  

 “What are you eating?” asked the corner of Nesta’s face.  

 “Rhys is doing business with these Belgium people. Very fancy. Particularly important Belgium people,” Feyre’s eyes and forehead answered, “They brought a lot of chocolate,”  

 “Quite the stereotype,” A pause “Save me some?”   

 “Sorry, I’m finished with them already.”  

 “Ok! Grand reveal time!”  

  Nesta’s side eye and frown disappeared once Elain popped into frame, a soft off-white midi dress with a high neckline and short sleeves now around her body, accentuating the dip of her waist.  

 “Ooh, I love the slit!”  

 “Yes! And it’s such a nice print too! The red details go really well with your nails! Where did you go to get that set?”  

  Elain squealed, jumping a bit with the balls of her feet, her skirts flaring “I get my nails done with my neighbor’s girlfriend. She’s quite good, isn’t she?” Elain approached her phone, showing her nails to the screen. “Oh, and look at the back,” Elain twirlied, skirts swishing around her calves.  

 More excited cheers ringed around Elain.  

 “Your tits look amazing! What about the shoes?”  

 Elain barely had the time to blush.        

 ” Oh, it’d look lovely with the converse I painted for you!” Feyre pointed out.  

 Elain had to turn away to hide her frown “I’d thought to wear slip on heels?”  

 “Way better!” recognized Nesta almost too quickly “Or maybe the pretty red ones with the ties at the ankles? Low heeled?”  

 “The red ones are pretty! Yes! But the slip-ons are easier,” Elain said, showing the options to her camera “Nude or green?”  

 “Definitely green,” said Feyre as Nesta said “Go with the nude one.”  

 “Do you think I could pull off wearing one color on each foot?” Elain giggled, putting her lip gloss and money purse in her bag, leaving the colorful shoes on top of her vanity chair.  

 “Nah, Nesta’s right, go with the nude one,” Feyre said, mouth foaming with toothpaste.  

 “What was that?” Nesta mocked in a singsong voice “Can you repeat it, please, I couldn’t hear around your toothbrush. Or the sound of your betrayal. I always save you a bonbon or two.”  

 “No, you don’t,”  

 “Well, I always mean to!”  

 Feyre spit off frame and flipped Nesta the bird.  

 All three of them laughed, Elain hurrying around her room to seem like she was ready to leave.  

 “Thank you so much for tuning in for this episode of Sisterly Love,” Elain joked with a big, unnerving smile, a weird laugh she hoped the poor functioning camera of her phone would hide “I’ll see you girls on next week’s episode- “  

 “Wait! No!” Interrupted Nesta with a serious face, “I see you worrying about, pretending you’re late,”  

 Feyre, who was smiling at someone else off camera, joined in as if she’d just caught on “Yeah! Stop... doing that,”  

  “Tell us about MMM!” Nesta demanded, “You can’t expect us to let you go on a date with a creep!”  

  “How do you know I’m pretending?” Elain huffed, her eyes diminished into slits, hands at her waist.  

  “As if you’d be in the risk getting to your date late. You like him too much,”  

  Nodding to her sister’s point, Elain dropped her facade.  

  “But he’s not a creep,” Elain said as she plopped down on her cushioned vanity chair, using the mirror to double check her makeup.  

  “Then what is Mister Mystery Man like?”  

   Elain had no control over the grin that illuminated her face “He’s... charming. Kind. Tall. And a swimmer too- “  

  “A swimmer! Nice broad shoulders then, huh?”  

  “Well, yes, I guess” Elain stammered a bit “He works in Communications. His brother’s dogs just had a litter, so now he’s taking care of two puppies. The cutest little things I’ve ever seen to be honest-”

 “Ok, ok, but how well does he kiss?”  

 “You’ve kissed him, right?”  

 With a quickened heartbeat, Elain confessed “Yes,”  

 “Then come out with it already! Tell us how it was!”  

 “It was a sweet kiss. He dropped me off at home and... well, you know how these things go.”  

 Neither Nesta nor Feyre said anything, urging Elain to keep talking.  

  And if Elain got a little breathless, none of her sisters mentioned “We were heading home after dinner. He took me to the new Italian restaurant near the Sidra, so it was a short walk until my apartment.”  

 “He looked so handsome, I thought I’d melt when he held my hand and I’ll admit I was rather tipsy by then, and he was so warm and... Gods, when he leaned down to kiss me, I turned into a puddle- “  

 “That sounds straight out of that novel you lent me, Nesta,”  

 “He is quite the charmer, isn’t he?”  

 “Yes. Yes, he is” said Elain dreamily.  

 “Elain! Don’t forget to do that thing you do with your lipstick? Makes your lips look so good,” Feyre reminded enthusiastically, dragging Elain out of her stupor.  

 “Yeah, maybe then your next kissing story won’t be so wholesome,” Nesta added with a leer.  

 With a happy giggle, Elain carefully traced a discreet line with her lipliner over her cupid’s bow and covered it with lip gloss.  

 “Yeah! Just like that!”  

 “Oh, I see the difference now. You look stunning,”  

 Opening a drawer, Elain asked “Big hoops or small ones?”  

 “They won’t look good with this dress, though” mused Nesta “Unless you’re wearing the small chunky ones, more oval than circle,”  

  “You mean these?” Elain showed the jewelry, to the camera.  

 “Yes, that’s the one. I knew I should’ve gone with you to get the extra earring holes! You look ten times hotter with all these earrings.”  

 “Yeah, you definitely should’ve” agreed Feyre with a smile “You look stunning, Elain. MMM is a lucky man,”  

 Not bothering to hide her smile, Elain thanked her sisters, the video call ending quickly after their well wishes and goodbyes.  

  With a reinvigorated sigh, Elain gathered her basket, carefully picking up the flowers she had wrapped to gift her date and left her apartment in a flurry of petals and jangling keys. 

                                          ***

  Elain waited by the Velaris Park entrance that viewed the Sidra, inhaling the salty breeze that ruffled her hair and skirts, cooling the hotness of the sun on her skin. 

 Twirling around as if she’d heard her name in the wind, Lucien stepped into her line of vision and Elain was suddenly, viscerally reminded of the Three Musketeers Disney film she knew all the song lyrics by heart, with the outdated montage of Minnie, the pure hearted French princess, meeting Mickey, the earnest musketeer with a desperate need to prove himself, saturated in an array of old sparkly effects and pretty roses that sprouted at will, surrounding the animated mice in a haven of pastel pink fluffy clouds and romantic orchestra, and the terribly cheesy, awfully idealistic and childishly romantic speech about love at first sight.  

 He walked up to where she was standing, a carefully wrapped beautiful arrangement of multi-colored tulips, lilacs, and white carnations in his hand, and a basket very much like hers tucked in his elbow. He was wearing a cream button down with the top buttons undone, the wisps of red hair and freckles on his collarbone adorned by a discreet necklace glowing in the sun.  

 Elain’s tote bag slipped off her shoulder in a moment of lightheaded carelessness and Lucien gracefully helped her reassert the bag in her shoulder, his hand lingering if only for a moment.  

 “Are these for me?” he asked as a greeting, the light of his smile mirrored in his eyes.  

 “Yes,” she smiled too, something soft slipping into her ribcage and filling her with sunlight at the sight of him “You said these were your favorites in-”  

 “My mother’s garden,” he said with her, still smiling at her like he could not stop even if he tried “I’ll admit it now that I didn’t share that bit of information necessarily aiming for a gift” he walked the few steps so he could stand at her side “Not that I’m complaining.”  

 "I'm glad you liked them," Elain said, her sunglasses slipping on the bridge of her nose "I believe I was promised a fine spot for picnics and watching the sunset?" Lucien’s presence melted away Elain’s unsteady nerves, the tension of her body uncoiling with the tender warmth flowing off him.  

 "The best spot there is," he promised with a wink "Also, these are for you" Lucien mentioned to the graceful bouquet of peonies, buttercups and sunflowers in his hands, the few residual beads of water in the petals scintillating in the sunlight. “I thought it might be presumptuous of me to gift you my favorite flowers, so hence the absence of tulips.”  

  Elain chuckled, walking by Lucien’s side as he led them to his favorite part of the park “I wouldn’t have minded at all. Tulips are one of my favorites as well,” 

 “A woman of great taste,” he replied with a little head bow.  

 Elain, her mouth a little dry, a few strands of her front hair pieces sticking to her brow, wondered why she had ever felt nervous to meet Lucien, with his soft curls smelling of autumn, apples and cinnamon, steady hands, and bright, bright smile. There was nothing unpleasant about his presence, the effortless way he stood and spoke, the grace in his step or the lovely caramel of his eyes. 

 He guided her to a little alcove of grass, lined by tall stone walls covered in vines. In all her walks through the park, she never noticed it. A beautiful corner hidden from curious eyes, but not blocking the river’s breeze or the sight of its running waters. 

 “I’ve got a friend in the team of architects that planned this park,” Lucien explained at Elain’s surprised face “Not exactly something one would find in the City Guide,” 

 “It’s lovely, Lucien. I’ll admit that this could possibly be the best the best sunset viewing spot,” 

 “Possibly be?” he asked with mock outrage, setting the waterproofed fabric over the grass, soon followed by a dark blue checkered flannel blanket “It is the best one. It’s the reason it’s a secret” he said in a conspirators whisper, comically eyeing their surroundings as if in search of busybodies. 

 “Well, I can only decide after the day’s event,” Elain sat at the other side of the blanket, carefully arranging her basket’s content over the fabric, swiping their bouquets so they rested near their respective owners. 

 “Is this a ruse so that I work extra hard to impress you?” 

 “I don’t know,” she smirked while plating the delicate chocolate strawberries she’d made herself the night before, “Is it working?” 

 “I’m proud to say I’ve being incessantly trying to remain at my A game since the moment I looked at you the first time. 

 “That’s good,” if the blush staining her cheeks gave away her smugness, Lucien didn’t acknowledge it.

*** 
 

It was easier than falling asleep, talking to Lucien. Like being carried away by a gentle river current. Like the subtle swing of a hammock by the beach. 

 He liked bossa nova, and she did too! Her father introduced it to her when she was a little girl, swaying her in his arms. It was Lucien’s mother favorite music genre, he accidentally scratched one of her vinyl records as a kid in his haste to listen to the soft melody, the boyish delight he had at the gleam in his mother’s eyes, rare even then, making his fingers clumsy. 

 He grew up in New Hampshire, in a big estate house with woods nearby, camping with his siblings every other week, learning how to fish with his hands because he never liked to use hooks, even as a little boy. Elain had never been one for the outdoors, except for the window box, the closest thing to a garden she had ever managed to keep over the years in her family’s one bedroom apartment. But she’d like to see it someday. He would love to show it to her, he promised with his hand hidden under his thighs as if to retract from touching the flush on cheeks. 

 Elain lived most of her life in apartments, except for the few summers she used to spend at her grandparents’ country house. Her grandmother had the most beautifully cared for garden Elain had ever seen. It even had a maze, towering walls of green she could get lost into while exploring with her sisters. Once her grandparents passed away, her father had to sell the property. She never got the chance visit it again. 

  The deep orange skylight alerted them of the incoming sunset, the Sidra’s waters a wonderful watercolor of blues, pinks, reds, and oranges, gleaming in between the dark green frames of the vine-covered high fence surrounding them.  

  By then, the initial space between them had dwindled, the food containers already inside their baskets, only wine glasses a sip away from being finished near their lazied forms. Elain and Lucien were laying side by side, the gentle slope of the ground allowing them to look at the departing sun without strain. 

 They hadn’t properly touched yet. The easiness of darkness and alcohol in their last date was substituted by the brightness of day and sobriety, their interaction more measured physically. Elain felt the absence of touch as the whispers of a phantom limb. 

 Consumed by the incandescent light of the sun, an unexpected source of courage, Elain laid her head on Lucien’s shoulder. She hadn’t realized they had been quiet for a while, the sunset filling the space where their words had been. 

 Before she could speak, Lucien snaked his arm under her neck, twisting his body to hold hers as they watched the dark blue dotted with stars overthrow the magnificent golden orange. 

 “Is this, ok?” 

  A nod. 

  A hug. 

  A breath on the neck. 

  A shy kiss on the cheek. 

  The white-hot warmth of his lips on hers. 

  The devastating light of her lips on his. 

  Finally, being home. 

Thank you so much for reading it!!!! Please, I'd reeeeealy appreciate your opinions/feedbacks on it :))))

Elain’s dress, shoes

Lucien’s shirt

#elucienweek #elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #dates! #flowers! #i’m so proud of myself for finishing this!!!!! #i’d love to hear your thoughts on it!!! #also: is nesta excited for Elain's date or the coffee she's making? I guess we'll never know!!!!! #my writing #wow i can't believe it #i can tag things as my writing now!!! #acotar #if there’s any error you find #pls lemme know #ana writes