#translates to “ass” or “asscrack”
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I saw a TikTok caption that called our beloved players Diarrhea survivors 😭🤧🤣
#fc barcelona#futból#sports#the OG nickname for this club#translates to “ass” or “asscrack”#i'm in hysterics#those pedri girlies are diabolically funny#<- gn ofc#preseason 2023
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I’m still piecing together everything and taking it in, the story is just too captivating to me
Small details I understand/interpret/just rly liked seeing under the cut (spoilers)
Someone said the flashback takes place 6 years prior to now, I forgot whether or not it was stated early in the episode but it kinda checks out.
Orla and friede are childhood friends from kanto, she moved to hoenn, and they met again in paldea on ludlow’s fishing boat.
If anyone can PLEASE explain to me the puns(???) mollie and Murdock give before friede slides to the ground, do it, what I understood was “mimirol on a wall”, “metang playing shogi”, and runpappa caring abt SOMETHING
Ludlow is consistently called jii-chan by friede through the episode, whether this means they’re close and have a grandpa-grandson-like bond or if they’re actually related is unclear to me, I just like their back-and-forth while waiting for something to bite, reminds me a little of fishing with my dad.
After lucca calls friede(on a regular ass phone that is NOT a rotom), they meet up in medali’s treasure eatery(a small Larry cameo ensues), but I’m pretty sure friede and ludlow are fishing at the port on paldeas west coast.
The first thing said when the two meet in person is “it’s been a long time!” It seems a lot has changed since lucca was friedes teacher, she is very formal and calls him “friede-hakase” or “professor friede” at every given opportunity. He doesn’t react to this the same way he does in present day, it seems he took his title seriously until meeting pikachu.
Friede focuses in on Luccas wedding ring, relaxes a bit, you really get the vibe that two old friends just spent ages separated and are only now given the chance to catch up over drinks. He must not have seen her in person since she’s gotten married, or since liko was born, but he feels comfortable enough with his former teacher to meet her at the asscrack of dawn to go see that weird pikachu.
Idk how much time passed and for how long friede was watching pikachu, but it looks like he got tired of only watching, now wanting the action that should’ve come with the title of “pokemon professor,” and charizard seems to have wanted this as well. Charizard was mostly sleeping and flying low in the episode, but they jump at the opportunity to take to the sky for the first time in a while.
After catching pikachu, we saw ludlow raise his eyebrows for the second time in the episode(the first was to show amusement at friedes embarrassment in present day), looking proud of friede for doing something exciting. They head over to a construction site orla is working on and we get to see his outrageous request to her, as was alluded to previously.
She asked him if he was stupid LMAO
I like the short, sped-up montage of orla and metang working on the brave asagi but it does NOT make me feel any better abt how labor-intensive her tasks on the ship are now. Like she was building this shit ALONE day in and out and didn’t get paid by the childhood friend that asked for it in the first place. VILE….
Nevertheless, this was the start of the rising volt tacklers, which we now know is named very obviously for captain’s ability to rise into the air using a volt-tackle vortex. I couldn’t for the life of me understand what liko, Roy, and dot talked about at the end because of the music playing over it, but I appreciate orla still chatting and being silly with mollie and murdock off to the side.
The episode is beautiful, I’d watch it 100x over before subs come out, I side with the writer for this one and hope everyone watches it regardless of if they’ve been keeping up. Beyond excited to see someone who actually knows what they’re talking abt to translate this because I’m watching it with my best friend :).
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back on OC bullshit and that means making ✨much needed edits!!✨
(aka i’m ranting about self indulgent stuff for a while)
including, unfortunately, a lot of name changesssss
(so sorry mutuals but some of these characters were named when i was in the third grade they need to go-)
there are a handful of these OCs (chris, ethan, tony, etc.) who are part of the main canon of this Currently Unnamed story, but had originally been created in a modern au *COUGH NINJAGO COUGH*
their names were fine in that context. however, the world that this story takes place in is drastically different from the semi-modern setting of ninjago cough ergo…. they no longer sit right
SOME OF THE ALTERATIONS THAT MIGHT PROBABLY BE CHANGING AGAIN SOMETIME IN THE NEAR FUTURE:
daku is definitely getting a whole new name. guranteed, at some point that’s gonna happen
i don’t know what it’s gonna be at ALL
but he was my first oc ever thus i have zero confidence that it wasn’t at least a little bit racist in its origin (i’m like 88% positive that name was pulled from google translate’s asscrack),
no matter how much i like the meanings of the name ‘daku’ in other languages i can’t ignore my sad little third grader attempt to sound japanese,
the sound of it does not suit his character at all, i can’t even come up with a face for him because of it,
i’m tired of it being compared to deku, shall i go on,
chrisanth, or chris, is getting only a minor name adjustment i say before rambling for a thousand years
because i love the idea of naming him after the chrysanthemum flower (i’ve seen too many of those this autumn)
AND the meaning of the particular name ‘chrysanth’ is fucking gorgeous (“golden flower, brilliant and precious flower like gold that glitters in the light” according to one (1) single webbed site) but the step between that name, ‘chrisanth’, and ‘chris’ feels too,,,, shhhhort????
and tbh i’m not sold on the nickname ‘chris’ anyway given the whole. weird japanese/middle eastern vibe-mashup that he has,
neither of which match a name that could be used for a white plumber—
ALTHOUGH, although although i did happen to stumble upon the name CHRYZANT which GREATLY appealed to my fondness for bizarrely-spelled names,
however i did not see any sources that said it meant the same thing as ‘chrysanth’, that it was a literal translation to the chrysanthemum flower,, it’s. not a problem at all rlly, that is what his name is literally based on like i said but i. i just like the other definition that one website gave me so much i don’t care if it’s bullshit i have to stick w/ it for now
so officially his tag has been changed to the weirdly-spelled ‘khrisanth’ for now-
AND THEN THERES TONY.
i don’t feel like iiiiiii have to change his all that much???
considering his full name is anthony and that’s a pretty ‘culturally flexible’ (i say with a HEAVY grain of salt) name??????
but it is weird now because that’s the name of my aunts weird boyfriend and apparently he’s sticking around now SO LIKE—
IM THINKING ABOUT CHANGING IT TO ANTON.
because i fuuuuuckingggg loooooove that name…
and he lives in a region with fashion that is heavily northeastern european-inspired, & as far as i know that name is pretty popular around that region?? i’ve yet to double check on that from reliable sources don’t quote me on that please fjfjfkfh
and then there’s my poor baby oc, ink, who was created in a very half-assed way, uhh fjfjkdhd so far it’s the only ‘officially’ human oc i have in this world?? there are other humans but it’s just. the only one i got? i’m so sorry sweetie werewolves are just hotter than humans—
it uses it/its pronouns, which. i have never done. i want to be careful with this one, not only is it human but it uses pronouns i have never met anyone with before fjfjdkhd i know they’re out there but i just. don’t know any of them, so this character just feels like an egg from some strange bird that i don’t know how to handle at all and i’m just tryina handle it veeeery caaarefully—
ANYWAY OFF TOPIC- i want to give it a name that REALLY suits them. ‘ink’ does not. feel like that. fjhfkdhdjdbdjb
iiii don’t really have any ideas at the moment, but this is one that i’d love feedback on please help me properly care for this bean,,, name suggestions would be great, literally any, i mean it
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Walk You Home
Pairing: Seo Changbin x gn!Reader
Genre: fluff, high school!au
Word Count: 745
Warnings: A few swear words here and there!
Note: i did not want my favorite seolar to suffer through another angst fic so eto na @loveaekki mwah. this has a lot of filipino words used so I included a glossary at the end of the imagine!
The repetitive sounds of sneakers squeaking against the floor resonated in the indoor gym’s four walls. Amongst the clusters of freshmen girls gushing over the upperclassmen, younger siblings waiting for their brothers to take them home, and other students just hanging about sat someone tapping furiously at their phone. What could be on their phone that is so important that it enraptured their undivided attention? (Not spoilers about the latest chapter of Jujutsu Kaisen, of course not!)
“Nakita mo ba ‘yon? That was such a clean shot, I'm telling you- hey! Were you not paying attention again?”
You looked up to see your boyfriend, all hot and sweaty, holding a basketball in one hand while putting one hand on the bleachers above you, leaning his weight on it. Instead of feeling the intimidating aura one would usually feel when a muscular boy pins you to the bleachers, you try to hold in your laughter after seeing the childish pout adorning Changbin’s face. I mean, who wouldn’t? Stone-faced, antisocial, intimidating Seo Changbin who is almost always found crossing his arms with a resting bitch face? The same Seo Changbin who everyone thought was an ass just because of the fact that he just wears black by default when not in uniform? Surely you must be talking about a different person.
But well, all of those were just observations made from afar.
If they truly knew who Seo Changbin was, they would know that he enjoys watching Barbie movies with you ‘til the asscrack of dawn just so he could help you make an objective ranking of all of them. He adores the color pink, and has multiple phone cases of the same color that he insisted you buy too so you could match. That he can often be found laughing obnoxiously loud with his friends during dismissal, hanging around by the gates to buy Kuya Arthur’s special kwek-kwek and iscrambol, even paying for their portions when he can.
“Sorry na, bubot. But that was the only time I looked away from your scrimmage! You did amazing, by the way.” You reached into your bag, bringing out a towel for him to wipe the sweat away from his face. “Wipe your face off already! Hay, it really is hard being a courtside jowa.”
“Bobo, you were just sitting here the entire time while I played my ass off! What do you mean it was so hard?”
Well, while you were out there being all cool and scoring basket after basket, I had to listen to your growing horde of fangirls.” You subtly gestured to the group of girls perched on the bleachers’ highest point, who hurriedly looked away with red faces when Changbin looked at their direction. Well that’s definitely something they’re going to squeal about later.
“But anyways, are you ready to head home?” You ask as he reaches for the water bottle also in your bag, ignoring the glare you gave him when he drank from your bottle instead of his. (You’ve been scolding him about that habit of his for ages, but all you get is a wiggle of his eyebrows accompanied by some teasing- Ayaw mo ‘non? Indirect kiss?)
“Wait lang. Let me say goodbye to the boys first, and then we can go.” And with that, you stood up, following him over to where the rest of the boys were.
“Oi, Kuya Bin! Do you want to come with us? We’re heading over to ‘Lix’s house, we’re ordering in pizza and playing some games tonight.” Hyunjin asked. The other boys on the team that were in his year level bounded over as well, making knowing faces after seeing you trailing behind their teammate. Changbin chuckled at the faces his juniors made before gesturing to you.
“Sorry guys, pass muna. Ihahatid ko pa ‘to eh.” After grabbing his schoolbag from the bench, he strode back to where you were chatting with Chan, letting you finish your conversation with Minho before grabbing your hand and waving to the rest of the team, ignoring the chorus of “yie”s and “sana all”s that followed.
When people think of Seo Changbin, they immediately think of the intimidating shooting guard of the school’s basketball team but in reality, he’s the sweetest, least threatening person ever. He loves bringing you flowers, he loves listening to sappy music and writing you random love poems, and most of all, he never fails to walk you home after every school day.
Glossary
* Nakita mo ba ‘yon? - Did you see that?
*kwek-kwek - street food! it’s a neon orange ball with a boiled egg inside
* iscrambol - basically flavored crushed ice. usually served with mini marshmallows, sprinkles, flavored syrup and powdered milk.
* bubot - literally means unripe, but can be used as a term of endearment of sorts, kinda like baby
* jowa - gender neutral term for significant other
* bobo - idiot
* Ayaw mo ‘non? - You don’t like (it)?
* pass muna. Ihahatid ko pa ‘to eh. - Maybe next time. I have to take her home first.
* sana all - directly translates to hope all, expresses the desire to have something someone else has, in this case, a relationship.
#districtninewriters#stray kids imagines#stray kids x reader#seo changbin x reader#seo changbin imagines#changbin imagines#changbin x reader#changbin fluff#seo changbin fluff
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Peppermint Sandalwood Announcement
It’s your Cinnabon-digesting neighborhood Sora up at asscrack o’clock to inform all y’all about some sweet-ass developments over in the bomber department of ORZ Co. Remember how back in the 90s there were two animes for a weird crossover/mashup/something series between Hudson Soft and Takara to promote a huge line of mecha-themed toys?
Right. Well, your sakuga-obsessed neighborhood translator Bomber D. Rufi has started doing livetweets on Twitter of episodes from the first of those animes, Bomberman B-Daman Bakugaiden IV. Make sure you follow him on Twitter if that’s your bomberjam (and it should be because this anime is cute and silly and also ridiculously stuffed with language puns apparently so naturally BDR is crying Kool-Aid tears over trying to properly translate them, and we all want to see him cry Kool-Aid tears, right). So far he’s done the first two episodes, and is aiming to do two a week.
Episode 1
Episode 2
As for what we think are proooobably the inevitable questions...
1. Are you guys going to sub this? WELL...we’d like to. But neither BDR nor I have the ability to do fansubs, or the time to learn it. So if someone can hook us up somehow, we might be able to make this happen. Mihaele knows we’d love to get this out properly to the English-speaking world.
2. Are you guys going to translate anything else from Bakugaiden? Again, we’d like to! And of course for this we technically have the ability to. But there’s a lot of other stuff we already do or want to do, bomber or otherwise, and especially with Super Bomberman R looming on the horizon in about a month(!) it’s possible that we’ll need to focus our attention instead on translating things related to that. At the very least, I have a few 4-koma anthologies on hand based on the old-school Super Bomberman games that might suddenly become relevant again. I can’t believe Bomberman is relevant again.
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When Being Queer Means You Don’t Fit Your Job’s ‘Aesthetic’
“No… more like this.”
Carla* sashays down the alley, turns around at the dumpster and sashays back. A lit Player’s clings for dear life from the corner of her lipsticked mouth.
“Like that.” She bucks out her hips from one side to the other like a showgirl, sucks the smoke from the last of cigarette and tosses the butt into the plastic bucket—it once contained sliced pickles—which serves as an ashtray for the cooks and floor staff. “It’s got to come, like, from the hips.”
I try a series of uncertain steps down this impromptu catwalk. I’m wearing a pair of Payless flats. There’s a hole in the toe where I’ve worn through it, running back and forth from the kitchen to the patio a thousand times a day.
It’s the end of my shift, nearly midnight. Mid-July in Ottawa, one of those city nights that’s like living inside an asscrack, impossibly hot and sticky and close with fumes. I work on Sparks Street at a greasy dump I wouldn’t let my worst enemy eat at. A tourist once left a Tripadvisor review for our restaurant that (accurately) claimed our burgers “slid through him like a rat through a drain pipe.”
“Fuck girl—kick out those hips… you’re not going to the fuckin’ barn. Tits up, ass out!”
On the street beyond us a stream of Friday-night taxi-cabs come to barely-legal rolling stops. What Carla and I are doing out in the steamy half-dark—her dictating, smoking, correcting, me trotting back and forth on command like a show dog—is trying to teach me “how to walk like a girl.”
A few hours ago while I was still on the floor, Carla, the front of house manager, approached me as I was bringing a chin-high stack of dirty dishes down to the pit. She told me the restaurant’s owner—a portly elderly man—had asked her to speak to me. He had been in for dinner, had seen me serving tables and had not been impressed with what he saw, she said—specifically, with my “unfeminine” way of walking and standing.
“Like, I know you’re gay,” Carla had said, shifting back and forth on the heels she routinely wore to work. “But you clomp girl. You walk like a dude.”
In order to “correct” this flaw in my service style, Carla—our only female manager—had been asked to “show” me how I was “supposed” to walk.
I turn on my heel and come back, stand before Carla. She’s is in her late 30’s; tall with black hair, bleached highlights, short skirt, low-cut top. I am 23, short, with a rough pixie-cut that grew out from an unspeakably bad haircut I got from a student barber. My pants are too large and too long for my frame and my shirt—an ugly orange thing with the name of the restaurant emblazoned like a brand someone would actually recognize across the back—is also too large. I feel like a child wearing my parents clothes, awkward and ugly and small standing in front of Carla’s appraising, mascaraed eyes.
“We’ll keep working on it.” She fishes a lighter from her pocket, starts another cigarette. She blows smoke, crosses her arms. “You’ve got nice curves, you know? You’d be so pretty if you just did a little more with hair, wore a little make up.”
With that, I’m dismissed. I unlock my bike from the grate outside the restaurant and go home.
Sweeping down Rideau Street, I dive past the Parliament buildings, the National War Memorial where the lights from the base of the statue shine up into the face of a motherly angel holding a fallen soldier. I weave and dodge between cars, watch people and lights flicker by. I feel curiously distant from everything, as if I am watching a movie about myself and the person playing me is a stranger.
At home, I turn on the television, get a beer from the fridge, roll a joint and sit down on the couch. I crack the beer, light the smoke. I wiggle my toes and look at them. You clomp, girl. You’d be so pretty if you just wore a little makeup.
And I’m suddenly just so mad, my face hot and flushed, sucking on the joint like it’s going to make me feel better even though I know it’s not. I’m embarrassed, furious with the attempt to retrain me into something I am so obviously not, some outdated, heteronormative version of what being ‘feminine’ and ‘female’ means. Moreover, I’m angry with myself, because I let them humiliate me, because I was too young to know what to say and in the face of such sexism and homophobia, and because, even if I had known how to respond, I wouldn’t have. I needed that job, couldn’t afford to lose it. And they knew it.
I fall asleep with the television on and my bare, traitorous feet still propped up on the coffee table.
That was all in 2010, back when I was still waiting tables to put myself through school. While tinted with homophobia, what this story is really about is what our culture views as feminine. If I were male, the way I walked, even if I were a gay male, would never have come into question, at least not in the service industry. That I am queer was not really the problem; the problem was that I am queer and refused to adhere to a heteronormative standard of attractiveness in a position in which I was expected to serve the public.
You would hope that, now, eight years later, things would be better; it would be easy to dismiss this anecdote as the kind of backwards thinking we are in the process of outgrowing as a culture, but I can tell you first-hand that the service industry is still a stagnant, writhing shit-hole of sexist, disciminiatory behaviour.
Recently, while living in Montreal, I asked a friend to hook me up with a job at a bar where she was managing. I was writing a book and wanted some part-time scratch. My friend, who had worked with me when I was still serving full-time, readily agreed; she had a stable of younger servers, she said, and would love to have someone older and more experienced around. She told me to come to meet the bar owner and to dress for a training shift, which I did; a crisply pressed black dress shirt and a pair of slacks.
After three hours of sitting at the bar waiting, it became apparent that not only was the owner not coming out to meet me, but no work was forthcoming. My friend, in the throws a Thursday night cinq-a-sept bar rush, looked embarrassed but was too busy to talk to me. I went home.
A few days later we met for drinks and she admitted to me that I hadn’t got the job. When she told her boss she wanted to hire me, he told her no. In his words, I “did not fit the aesthetic of the bar” and since he had “just hired a male bartender” he didn’t need me as well.
Allow me to translate: My short-cut hair and tiny titties do not sell drinks, so no job for me.
This sexist horseshit is endemic in the industry. I worked in it for over ten years, right up until 2015. I put up with a lot of harassment from both management and male customers, the latter of which still feel surprisingly entitled to flirt, taunt and even touch female servers. During my time in Montreal, I belonged to a Facebook group for servers and cooks in the city which acted as a kind of job board. Often, young female servers would simply post an attractive photo of themselves—a low-cut top, nails and hair done, makeup judiciously applied—with the tagline ‘looking for work.’ No resume, no credentials. Like they were making a Tinder profile and not seeking serious employment.
That these young women would look for work this way—and that there were usually responses to these posts from employers—reveals what female servers and managers all know but would never publicly say; that female servers are hired as much, if not more, for their bodies than their skills.
You could pin this nasty facy on restaurant owners, but the problem is actually much deeper than that. What the hungry and thirsty public—which is to say, largely men, who still have more earning and therefore more spending power than women—want is pretty young thing to bring them their order. That’s part of what they’re paying for. And businesses know that for a cultural fact, one they can exploit and boil down to dollars. Hooters has 430 locations worldwide, a success which is based on a standardized, heteronormative and obviously extremely marketable version of what “feminine” and “attractive” is.
In the era of #MeToo, if we are truly serious, as a culture, about changing the way women’s bodies—and male entitlement to those bodies—is perceived, then perhaps we need to start thinking about how and why we spend our dollars.
As for 2010 me—the one whose walk did not meet the standards of my employer—I quit that job a few months later. Shortly thereafter, I would fall in love for the first time. My partner would later reveal that what first drew her to me was not my hair or my clothes, not my smile or the way I did my (non-existent) make up, but the way I had walked across the bar to meet her.
*name has been changed to protect people too stupid to protect themselves
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Day 0.5 - August 29, 2017
Update: 6:14 PM German time
Flight still hasn't shown up on departures board despite the fact that flights after mine have appeared. I don't want to get up to talk to people but it looks like I'm gonna have to if I want to see what's going on.
6:53
Asked someone for help and learned that apparently I am in the wrong terminal/wing of the airport. I got talked down to by some flight attendants at an empty gate who I asked for help and they directed me down a creepy empty set of stairs to customs where I had to go through passport checks/security like getting my passport stamped and everything and I thought I was in the wrong area again when I first got there so I turned around and headed in the other direction and I was literally the only person in this whole massive stretch of hallway (see picture) - tres creepy. So I go to the whole other side of the airport (just follow the green line with yellow arrows to the connecting flights terminals in gates A and B) to be fair the woman who checked my passport was nice. It's a long ass walk though - past all the baggage claim centers and up a bunch of stairs and then I had to go through the German equivalent of the TSA again and I also got picked for a random check and patted down. Then my bag got flagged for a random check and I panicked and thought it was because of my prescription so I was dumb and asked if the frickin prescriptions were why I got stopped - I might as well have held up a sign and shouted "I'm carrying drugs" at top volume - but luckily the security chick was like done and didn't investigate further or whatever. And I was hot and sweaty and because I wasn't expecting to go through security again my water was full so I looked like a moron and had to dump it and maybe they just didn't speak English but no one would talk to me or acknowledge me and the people were rude and then once I was through security I still had to find my damn gate which was not listed anywhere because my flight got delayed an hour or actually no it's not listed as delayed the departure time is just listed as an hour later than what's on my ticket. And my gate is in the asscrack of nowhere and I can't find anywhere to refill my water and just ugh.
Also my head is like overcrowding on languages I've been listening to at least five all day and my head is spinning because it wants to translate them all but it can't because I only speak one of those!
Update: Mildly later, once I’d calmed down.
All I gotta say is thank God mom convinced me to get a flight with a longer layover because I really wouldn't have made it in time if I only had a 45 minute layover
Also apparently smoothies are really big in Germany - or at least the Düsseldorf airport because I've seen a lot of smoothie bars.
They sell chewable toothbrushes in the bathrooms - gotta say I'm tempted. It's been like a day and a half or something since I brushed and I feel nasty. Also how often am I gonna get the chance?
8:54
Met a bunch of other CSU students at my gate. Thank goodness. None of them know where they're living either.
There's Darcy, the African American possibly Irish one (didn't catch her major).
Alice named after her dad's mom but Americanized from her family's native language, which I only know is middle eastern.
Nora who is Hungarian.
And Sha, the one who's full name I can't remember but who is super nice so far and does not intend to reinvent his wardrobe.
Also: I paid extra for a window seat on this flight and somehow managed to pick the only row with no window.
We are currently sitting in an honest to God twin prop propellor plane. We had to ride a bus over the tarmac to get out to the plane and then I got to climb real airplane stairs to get in - I feel like I'm in a black and white movie. Is this Casablanca? Woohoo!
Airports are creepy when they’re empty.
Sunset from a new continent.
Me, tired as balls.
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