#and 30 year olds who are teaching them English | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

girlactionfigure · 15 days

Text

THURSDAY HERO: Mildred Harnack

Mildred “Mili” Harnack was a writer and academic from Wisconsin who moved to Berlin with her German husband in 1930. As Hitler rose to power, Mili created the largest resistance group in Nazi Germany and was targeted for execution by the Fuhrer himself.

Mili was born Mildred Fish in Milwaukee in 1902. Her father William was a teacher, and her mother Georgina was an activist for women’s suffrage. Mili had a natural facility with languages, and was fluent in German by the time she reached adulthood. Throughout her life, Mili loved German literature and culture. She attended the University of Wisconsin in Madison, where she majored in English literature. Mili lived in a rooming house popular with writers, and worked as a film and drama critic for a local newspaper.

After receiving her BA, Mili went on to earn an MA in English in 1925. The next year she moved back to Milwaukee and worked as a lecturer at the Milwaukee State Normal School (now the University of Wisconsin – Milwaukee.) She met Arvid Harnack, a German economist and lawyer who was studying at the university on a Rockefeller fellowship. Arvid was from a prominent family of German intellectuals. After a whirlwind love affair, they were married in August 1926 at her brother’s farm. Arvid’s fellowship ended and he returned to Germany, followed by Mili the year later, after she completed a teaching session at Goucher College in Baltimore.

In Germany, Mili worked on her doctoral thesis and lectured at universities in German cities Jena and Giessen. The country was plunging deeper into political turmoil, and the Nazi party was rising to power amid the chaos. More than half of Mili’s students were outspoken Nazis. She moved to Berlin in 1930 to be with her husband, and began working as an assistant lecturer in English and American literature at the University of Berlin. Mili lectured about her favorite English and American writers including Ralph Waldo Emerson, Walt Whitman, Thomas Hardy and George Bernard Shaw. She was so popular with students that in just a year and a half, enrollment in the class tripled.

Mili connected with other American expatriates in Berlin and formed a literary salon where anti-Nazi academics and intellectuals could express themselves freely. By 1934, the Nazi secret police were everywhere and the salon was disbanded. Fellow ex-pat Martha Dodd, a close friend of Mili’s, later described her Berlin salon as “the last of the meager remnants of free thought.” Many of those who had participated in the salons continued to meet in the Harnacks’ living room but instead of discussing literature, they planned anti-Nazi political activism

Meanwhile, Mili achieved renown as a writer. She published essays in prominent German literary journals until the mid-30’s, when magazines started to print only “approved opinions” (in support of Hitler). She was able to continue working as a translator, and her German-language translation of Irving Stone’s biography of Vincent van Gogh, Lust for Life, was published in 1936.

Mili returned to the U.S. on a book tour in 1937, and her old friends were shocked at the drastic change in her personality. Earlier she had been friendly and easy-going, but four years living under Nazi rule made Mili anxious, stiff and guarded. She’d had to wear a metaphorical mask to survive in the totalitarian German state, and couldn’t shed the mask even when she left Europe. Mili’s family urged her to stay in the U.S. but she was determined to return to her husband and her political activism group, now called “The Circle.”

Mili’s unassuming manner combined with an extremely sharp intellect enabled her to penetrate the highest circles of German politics and diplomacy. She used these connections to get exit and travel visas for Jewish friends and colleagues, among them prominent publisher Max Tau. Mili also surreptitiously gleaned information from highly placed contacts, which she transmitted to fellow members of the resistance.

Mildred was fired from her teaching job at the University of Berlin because of her political beliefs, and she began teaching at night school, where her students were mostly working class or unemployed. She recruited many of them to join The Circle. The group published anti-Nazi leaflets, written by Mildred, and secretly left stacks of them in public places throughout the city.

German intelligence called them “the Red Orchestra” and falsely smeared them as communists working for the Soviets. Undeterred, the group increased their activities and cooperated with other resistance units. Around this time Mili wrote, “I saw it clearly before my eyes. From then on our work not only implies the risk of losing our freedom, from now on death was a possibility.” Led by Mili, The Circle became the largest resistance group in Nazi Germany. They incited civil disobedience against the Nazi regime, documented Nazi atrocities, and transmitted military intelligence to the Allies.

In the summer of 1942, the Nazis intercepted radio transmissions that revealed the identity of prominent resistance fighters including the Harnacks. On September 7, Mili and Arvid were arrested by the Gestapo and imprisoned. Arvid was tried by the Reich Military Tribunal and sentenced to death on December 19. He was hanged three days later at Plotzensee Prison.

Mili languished in a squalid prison cell for months, where she was tortured and contracted tuberculosis. She went on trial and was sentenced to six years in prison. However, Hitler heard about the American woman who fought so effectively against his regime, and he ordered a new trial for Mili. The kangaroo court delivered a pre-determined death sentence, and at Hitler’s explicit request Mili was beheaded by guillotine on February 16, 1943. Her last words were, “And I have loved Germany so much!” After her execution, Mili’s body was given to an anatomy professor at Humboldt University to dissect for research. After he finished, he gave the rest of her remains to a friend of hers, who had Mili buried in Zehlendorf Cemetery in Berlin.

The only writing that survived from her time in prison were a few translated lines from Goethe: “In all the frequent troubles of our days/A God gave compensation – more his praise/In looking sky-and heavenward as duty/In sunshine and in virtue and in beauty.”

Mildred’s brave actions and tragic death have not been forgotten. In Berlin, a street and a school are named for her, and in her native Wisconsin schools observe Mildred Fish Harnack Day. The University of Wisconsin-Madison hosts an annual Mildred Fish-Harnack Human RIghts and Democracy Lecture, and a sculpture of Mili was unveiled in Madison in 2019.

For fighting Hitler at the cost of her own life, we honor Mildred Harnack as this week’s Thursday Hero.

Image: Gestapo mug shots of Mildred taken after her arrest in 1942.

#Thursday Hero 🎖️

79 notes · View notes

mariacallous · 6 months

Text

My father was a short-order cook, a strictly stovetop kind of guy. Israeli salads and scrambled eggs. I never saw him approach the lower half of the oven, except to clean it within an inch of its life. It would take me until my 30s to realize that he did not grow up with anything like the ovens we had in Canada, and that there wasn’t much in his childhood home to place in a stove.

He was born in Mandatory Palestine in 1936 to Yemenite parents, who themselves were born in Ottoman Palestine. All four of his grandparents left Yemen in 1881 in what was known as the First Yishuv.

For my father, an oven was a primus — a portable camping stove that uses kerosene or paraffin oil. As a 12-year-old boy during the 1948 War of Independence, he ate grass and weeds (mostly mallow, known as kubezeh) that he had to forage for himself. So, on balance, his short-order cooking made sense.

When I grew up and moved to Israel and other new immigrants asked me about my background, my father’s lack of culinary skills became a source of repeated disappointment.

You must have had tons of jachnun and zhug?

More like zero.

I thought you said he was Yemenite.

My father did put an awful lot of Mexican salsa on everything from spaghetti to chicken, and ate onions like apples for breakfast, but Jewish food for me was Ashkenazi all the way. Well, you can’t go back.

Recently, I introduced a new dialogue project with my EFL (English as a Foreign Language) college students (anything to get them talking). Each student had to film herself discussing her favorite family recipe. I teach in Jerusalem and my students come from a range of backgrounds that include Morocco, Algeria, Syria, Ethiopia, Russia and France.

Occasionally I have a student with a Yemenite background. This particular student, we’ll call her Shira, introduced her recipe by stressing how often she eats it at home, and how delicious and nutritious it was, particularly for keeping on weight. This made sense as Yemen was (and still is) a very poor country, and many of their recipes are inexpensive and calorie dense, something important in an undernourished population.

Then, to my amazement, Shira described my father’s “hot cereal” recipe, as I had always called it. He used to mention that his mother made it for him year-round, including on Passover, but I took that to mean it was a family recipe, not a Yemenite Jewish one.

My father made this for me on the rare winter mornings when he was not off to work before I woke up. I remember the satisfied look on his face as he stirred and stirred groats, tossing out tidbits about his mother and his life in pre-state Israel like rare coins while he watched butter melt into the milk. He wasn’t much of a talker when it came to his past, but perhaps the familiar smell loosened his tongue.

For a few minutes, I would be drawn into his world of a mother who sold her own saluf (Yemenite flatbread) and zhug to passersby for extra money and chatted in both Arabic and Yiddish, rather than my usual stance, which was “Why can’t he be like all of the other fathers in my Jewish school and pull out the AlphaBits and Fruit Loops?” Nowadays, this recipe is a family favorite, particularly on Passover and if we are having sleepover guests on Shabbat.

I remember Shira’s surprise when I told her I was familiar with this recipe and thanked her for choosing it as her assignment. Turns out my birthright wasn’t entirely lost to me, it just took me longer than most to realize it. Better late than never.

Cooking notes

This recipe is endlessly adaptable:

My kids prefer it with half a cup less water and half a cup more milk. Some people omit the milk, just as they would for oatmeal.

I’ve seen recipes that add a teaspoon of sugar and margarine instead of butter, though I’ve never tried it.

On Passover, we substitute crushed matzah for groats or wheat.

On Shabbat, we bake this mix in a jachnun pot on a low heat (225°F or 100°C) overnight in the oven for cold Saturday mornings, which yields a very soft mixture.

77 notes · View notes

centrally-unplanned · 1 year

Text

I love deconstructing 'lifestyle' articles like these, they are such a gold mine of biases and narrative formation by the chattering classes. Here we have a wonderful premise:

Now, Ms. Margo is living a dream of many American women who are seeking relationships abroad, some of whom cite the toxic dating scene in the United States

Well, no objection from me that the US has toxic dating norms. But, hm, idk, 'many women' - is this a true trend amoung the American Female? Lets see who this article features:

Ms. Margo fell in love with the city (and its men). She found a gig teaching English in Paris and moved there after she graduated from Sarah Lawrence College in May 2019.

Okay, not *that* crazy but I do think I know what kind of Sarah Lawrence grad gap years in Paris before her law degree;

For Cindy Sheahan...At the end of 2017, she quit her job and traveled throughout Southeast Asia for leisure, and she started using Tinder.

That isn't...most people can't list as their full time job "Dating in Thailand";

For Frantzces Lys...she started a podcast called “Chronicles Abroad” with her co-host, who had met Ms. Williams, 40, in Malaysia. In 2018, Ms. Lys interviewed Ms. Williams, the founder of a consultancy, and the two kept in touch. They started dating years later.

Oh yeah the extremely relatable situation of a podcast host and boutique consultancy founder travelling to Mayalsia!!

“When you decide to just live your life for yourself, you actually end up stumbling upon people that match your energy and the same ideals and values,” said Ms. Lys, a 42-year-old founder of a wellness company.

Oh a wellness company, who hasn't founded one of those!!! And a link to their company, wow thanks NYT, that was definitely gonna be my follow-up for Ms. Lys:

Cepee Tabibian, who moved to Madrid at 35 from Austin, Texas, felt similarly.

Okay that could be normal, what do she d-

In 2020, she met her partner, who is Spanish. Now, she is the founder of She Hit Refresh, a community that helps women over the age of 30 move to a different country.

Jesus fucking Christ none of these people are real. They are full-hog in the industry of packaging and selling their Life of Insight & Discovery for $500 an hour over zoom sessions to non profits hosting leadership seminars, their dating isn't dating its brand management. I don't doubt they authentically love their life but this, shockingly, is not a trend, is not a sample, is not ethnographic data, this is an ad buy by a sliver of globe-trotting wealthy woman masquerading as journalism.

Absolutely the only relatable person is:

Alexis Brown, for example, noticed a lack of “effort and intention” from the men she was dating in Atlanta, where she attended Spelman College.

When she traveled across Europe for vacation from October 2022 to January 2023, however, the people she dated made it clear that they wanted to spend time with her.

Who takes way more words than is necessary to tell me she had a polycule stretching from Paris to Prague during her study abroad, which, good for her, that is what study abroad is for. Shockingly, this is not a new development in the collegiate experience!

Buried amoung the branded bullshit is Alexis's real gem and the only true 'thesis' of the article:

“The dating culture in the U.S. is that it’s cool and normalized to be indifferent to someone and not really express how you genuinely feel,” Ms. Brown, 23, said.

Which is essentially that in Europe people will "express emotion" unlike the cold, busy America. I don't doubt this, but I would hope a writer at the NYT's could have slightly more social awareness; the 'reason' Americans do not "express emotion" is that if they did you would dump them right on their ass on the first date.

Someone telling you, to quote Ms Margo:

“This one guy was like, ‘I ran through traffic just to look into your eyes once, and if you don’t want to go on a date with me, I can die happy knowing that I just met you,’” said Ms. Margo, a 28-year-old English teacher from Los Angeles.

As an opening line is cringe and uncomfortable, because they do not know you. They are lying and you know they are lying, it is a horrible foundation for a long term relationship. American dating norms have been hammering this lesson home on every participant (but if we are being honest, its primarily women hammering this home on men) and it is probably right to do. Anyone who does this lacks credibility.

But when you are in ~*Paris*~, you don't care about their credibility, because you lack it yourself. You are on vacation, you have no future, just a sequential present. If the guy who tells you your eyes are his world turns out to be a clingy failson who requires at least a blowjob a day to keep his mood stable, you can just *get up and leave the country*, you cannot be trapped because nothing is keeping you there. By placing an ocean between yourself and your social standing you can radically change your standards.

And you know what, there is something to that! Maybe the 18-point-checklist you mentally process every Tinder swipe through as you plan out your dream wedding on Cape Cod to a status-swollen ghost in a Tom Ford speckle-gray blazer while on lunch break from your quant analysis job at a digital marketing start-up in Chelsea isn't the best baggage to bring into a first date! Through radically shifting your social context it might be possible to jar your brain out of what is holding it back. Its not what you found in Paris, but what you left behind in America, that could actually make a difference... and that reality could give this article some heft.

But then say that instead of trying to sell me on the idea that:

For Ms. Margo, a Black woman who attended predominantly white institutions throughout her school years, she felt ignored in the United States, as if she “was not an option,” she said. In Paris she felt seen.

France is less racist than the campus of Sarah Fucking Lawrence against black people. No wonder the humanities are dying if they are teaching this level of self awareness.

#haven't stretched that Last Psychiatrist muscle in a while - good times #mini-essay

210 notes · View notes

musings-of-a-rose · 1 year

Text

Jump Then Fall - Part 1

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc “Vanessa Morales”

Word Count: 5300+

Rating: M for mature - 18+ only!

Warnings: Please be aware there is an 11 year age gap. Mature themes and some canon mentioned. Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head for a while now and finally decided to put it down. From the beginning, this story always felt like it needed an original character and so it does! When the story starts, Vanessa is 19 and Javier is 30.

**Shoutout to @vanemando15 for listening and bouncing ideas from me, and for her guidance with being a Latina herself. Without her, this wouldn’t even be a thing, just another line on my WIP spreadsheet. And also to my husband, who is also Latino and answered any questions I had (along with taking me to Colombia back in 2014). And to @wyn-n-tonic, who listened to my rambles and insecurities about writing an oc in first person.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

Jump Then Fall Masterlist

General Masterlist

Javier Peña Masterlist

1988

"Welcome back to the United States."

I thank the border agent as he hands me back my passport, tapping the brim of his hat as he steps back and waves me through.

Coming back to the States after spending the summer in a small village in rural Nuevo León, teaching kids English and helping to build both a school house and a church there was surreal. The village had been quite remote, having a well for water and simple huts for shelter. I had gone for a new type of program through my very Catholic, private university, one that would put missionaries and new teachers in the same places, so the people could learn English while having new facilities built for them.

My parents were hesitant at first. I am only 19, one of the youngest in the teacher program. But several of the missionaries were a few years younger than me and since we were all traveling together, my parents eventually caved and gave me permission to go, as it was obvious that God was calling me down this path.

The summer passed by quickly, my students eager to learn English and ask me questions about life outside of their small village. When it came time to leave, the missionaries were all called away to another village, while my university called me back. They wanted to know how the program was and to have me speak to several administrators from the university and others, as well as other members of the Diocese not directly involved in our university, as they were interested in expanding the program should it prove successful.

Which is what lead me, a young, 19 year old woman, to drive by myself, back across the border to the US. Probably not the smartest idea, but the idea thrilled me as I have never really been allowed to go places on my own. Or even make most of my own decisions.

My parents were pretty strict, always needing to know where I was and mostly keeping me home. It was hard to make friends, even within the church, and the few I did have, my parents had arranged. Corpus Christi wasn’t the biggest city but it wasn’t the smallest either and my parents kept a tight grip on me, especially when I hit puberty. I wasn’t allowed to cut or color my hair the way I wanted to, or pick my own clothes. If I ever came home with nailpolish on, I’d be scrubbing it off and reciting bible passages for a month at least.

Even when I started college, my parents kept their hands on me, demanding I go to the Catholic college close to home so I could continue to live there until I found a husband and got married. One they approved of, of course. I know they were just trying to keep me safe, but sometimes it would overpower me and I’d feel like I was suffocating, unable to make any choice or have control of my life.

Which is why I’m here, driving across the border and stopping in Laredo, Texas for the night. I pull into the first hotel I see that I think I can afford, the “Vacancy” sign lit up outside. Lucky for me, they do have a room I can afford and I pay the clerk, taking my key with the enormous keychain and heading off to find my room. This is the first time I’ll have ever slept somewhere by myself. Even in the village we had dorm style rooms and I shared with a few different girls.

The room is quiet. Turning on the tv helps but soon I’m overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choices - 13 channels is way too much. When the box clicks off, my stomach growls and I realize it had been hours since I’d eaten, possibly since breakfast. I pick up the phone and call the front desk to ask about food. They tell me the closest place is 2 blocks down, a bar called Pit Stop. Everything else would require a cab or is closed and yes, they’ll let me in under 21. I just can’t order alcohol.

I’ve never been in a bar before, but my growling stomach demands I get food. I pull on my sweater and head out, deciding to walk to the bar since it’s so close. I can hear it before I see it, bass thumping as I round the corner and see this square shape of a building, neon letters glowing in the night sky like lighthouse beacons. It’s pretty busy, cars lining the parking lot and people walking and milling about outside. I take a deep breath and pull my sweater a little tighter around me, my empty stomach urging me forward.

Inside was chaos. At least it was to me. The jukebox was blaring some country song that people were dancing to all in a line. People were packed in at the tables, chatting loudly and flirting, drinks coursing through people’s veins. Most weren’t completely drunk yet but many were well on their way. I spot a seat at the bar and slide into it, taking a look at the massive wall of liquor bottles behind it. I had no idea there were so many choices. I thought it was just beer, not beer, and sangria.

The bartender somehow spots me, giving me a once over before he asks what I’d like. When I request a menu, he laughs, saying they only have burgers and wings tonight. He takes my order for a burger and fries, assuring me the burgers “aren’t bad”, dashing any hope I had for a decent dinner. People come up to the bar, shoving around everyone to order and leave, drinks in hand as they turn back to their group. The seat next to me opens up and is immediately occupied by some drunk man who tries to hit on me. When I don’t respond, he calls me a slew of bad names, his face getting dangerously closer to mine and for the first time I realize that this may have been a bad idea, no matter how exciting the thought of it had been.

“Looks like you’ve had too much to drink, friend.”

A man claps the drunk man on the shoulder and he turns to look at him, his eyes unfocused for several long seconds.

“I–h-have?”

He nods. “Why don’t you go sober up? You may have a better shot if you can string 2 words together.”

The drunk man thinks about this for more time than is typically needed before nodding slowly. “Y-yeah. I’ll do that. Th-thankssss.”

He stands and the man helps him away, letting the crowd take the drunk man and shuffle him off to a corner where he promptly sits and falls asleep. The man turns back to me, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Sorry about him. He has a big bark but no bite.”

This man is..gorgeous. He’s taller than me, dark hair that curls slightly at the nape of his neck, a Burt Reynolds style mustache that somehow works for him, and the deepest, darkest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a leather jacket and some tight jeans, a white button up shirt with the top few buttons undone, exposing the tight muscles in his neck.

This man is trouble.

“May I sit?” He asks politely, gesturing to the now empty barstool next to me.

I should say no, tighten my sweater around my neck and take my burger back to my room. But something in me says make your own choices! Take back your life! and I find myself nodding, watching the man sit and and order another drink.

“What are you having?”

“Oh, I’m-” that voice comes back. You said this was your summer to try new things. He’s looking at me, eyebrows raised in anticipation of my answer.

“Surprise me.”

The man smiles and I almost fall off of my stool. It’s like the entire room lights up with it and I feel this intense urge to put another smile on his face, just to feel that warmth again. His eyes scan my body, chewing the inside of his cheek while he thinks. He turns to the bartender and order me a rum and coke, saying he’ll keep it simple for me.

“Why simple?”

He gestures to my clothes. “It doesn’t look like you get out much.”

I scoff. “Well that’s rather presumptuous to say.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Well….I mean, no. You’re not wrong. But I just came back from teaching English in Mexico for an entire summer while building a school and a church so excuse me if I don’t look the part.”

He holds his hands up. “I didn’t mean to offend! You just don’t look like…” he gestures around the room before turning back to me.

“I’m Javier, by the way. Javier Peña.”

“Vanessa Morales.”

He extends his large hand to me and I take it, the warmth immediately englufing my own and we let go of each other entirely too soon.

“So what’s a pretty, young, teacher doing in a place like this? Did you leave your group somewhere?”

I blush at his description of me, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Well, this was the best place to stop on my way back to Corpus Christi. And no group. Just me.”

Why did I tell him that? He could be a creep or worse. Not that I would mind a little worse.

His eyebrows raise. “You drove here from Mexico by yourself?”

I nod. “Probably not the best choice, but it’s my summer to try new things so…” I shrug, taking the drink the bartender had just set down in front of me and taking a small sip. I cough, choking on the strength of the alcohol burning my throat and to my horror, I see Javier holding back a chuckle.

“It has been a long summer then, I take it?”

I cough again, clearing my throat. “It was. I’m just not…used to rum.”

“Ok. Sure….so what do you do for fun, Vanessa?”

What do I do for fun?

“I uh…I go to Mexico and teach English-”

Javier shakes his head. “No, that’s your work. What do you do that’s entirely for you and not to help or please someone else?”

I have to think a lot longer that I probably should, which is pretty depressing.

“I…read?”

“Is that a question or your answer?”

“Both?”

“Let me guess…strict parents? Wouldn’t let you just be you?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“No, hermosa. But the sadness in your beautiful eyes, and the way you struggled to answer that question about yourself, told me.”

“Oh.” I look down at my hands, tracing little lines in the condensation on my glass. The song changes and Javier touches my hand lightly.

“I do not mean to make you sad. Come dance with me? You can’t be sad if you’re dancing.”

My cheeks flush red. “I’d love to but I..”

He leans in to my ear, speaking just for me. “It’s ok if you don’t know how. I will show you.”

And before I can talk myself out of it, I nod, letting Javier take my hand and pull me to the dance floor, his hands on my hips, pulling me close to him as he guides me on how to move, how to sway and dance to the music. I’m feeling a warmth between my legs, one that I think I’ve felt before but I can’t be sure. What I do know is I’d like to feel those hands elsewhere on my body.

“You catch on quickly, hermosa.” Javier whispers in my ear, sending goosebumps down my neck.

The song ends and I don’t want to stop, Javier guiding my body through several more songs before we have to stop, breathless from the dancing, Javier trying to stealthily adjust his pants as we make our way to the bar again. We get another drink and, this time, I’m nearly gulping it down in my haste to hydrate, Javier pulling the glass from my lips, cutting me off.

“You need water, hermosa. This shit won’t help you.”

We spend the next hour huddled together, knees touching and Javier’s hand on my upper thigh, gently squeezing my leg. If he can see the way my cheeks flush, the way I’m squirming in my seat as I start to feel a wet sensation between my legs, he doesn’t let on, his eyes solely focused on mine. Except when they dip down to my lips. I know he's just being nice, flirting with me to get what he wants, but I also know that I don't care.

I announce that I’d better get back to my room as I still have several hours of driving ahead of me. When he asks if he can walk me to my car, I tell him I walked from my hotel a couple blocks away.

“Oh no, hermosa. I can’t let you walk alone this late at night. Not around here. May I walk you back?”

“Oh. Really, you don’t have to.”

“I insist.”

Your summer of new things.

“OK….walk me back, please, Javier.”

We make it back to my room, chatting the entire way. He raises his arm, leaning his forearm against the doorframe and cocking his hip to the side, his other hand resting on his hip. He tells me he’s leaving the country for work tomorrow and I apologize for taking up so much of his time. He waves his hand, shaking his head.

“There is nowhere I’d rather be, hermosa.”

I blush, reaching into my purse to find the room key with the giant keychain on it. I fish it out and stare up at him, those brown eyes somehow darker with…something. Like a tension between us, pooling between my legs. Wait, is this..am I turned on?

His hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb swiping gently at my cheek as he leans in, stopping just half an inch from my face.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers. I nod furiously and he presses his lips to mine as my eyes close.

His lips are soft, gentle, his moustache tickling me slightly as his lips investigate mine, his tongue gently trying to push its way into my mouth. I open my mouth slightly and he takes advantage, his hand wrapping around the back of my head, holding me in place as his other hand grips my hip, pulling me flush against him, a hardness in his jeans poking at me. It takes me a moment to realize exactly what that hardness is and when I do, it sends more heat between my thighs. I drop the key in my haste to open the door, the loud clanging disrupting our heated kiss.

“S-sorry,” I mumble, kneeling to pick it up. I push the key in the lock and turn it, opening the door and walking inside. Only, Javier doesn’t follow me. I turn and look at him, hesitating in the doorway.

“Are you sure, hermosa? I don’t want to pressure you.”

Am I sure? The nerves in my body are going straight to my head, making me feel giddy at the prospect of having relations with a complete stranger. A complete hot stranger.

Your summer of new things.

“Y-yeah. Come in, Javier.”

He enters and closes the door behind him, sliding the bolt into place. He takes off his leather jacket and tosses it on the chair by my sweater, kicking his boots off as well. We both wait in silence for a moment, before Javier walks up to me, pulling my face to his as he resumes kissing me with a deep passion, as if I’m the only person he ever wants to kiss again. Once my shirt and pants are gone, I push back from him, crossing my arms over my body and sitting on the bed. He sits next to me, a worried look on his face.

“Hermosa? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“Talk to me. Please.”

I wait several long moments, gathering up my courage to tell him. “I…I don’t know what to do.”

“What to do?”

I gesture between us and Javier gets a look of comprehension on his face.

“Are you a virgin?”

“Yes? No? I’m not actually sure.”

“What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“I…well I mean, when I was with my now ex boyfriend from chuch, we…messed around a little. And I think he put it in? But it was over in just a few seconds so I’m not entirely sure if he did or not. And he ran out so quickly after and we never spoke of it again so I’m not really sure what happened.”

Why am I talking so fast?

“Oh, hermosa. I figured you didn’t get out much but that…ok, here’s what we’re going to do. That time? Doesn’t count, ok? Push it from your mind. If you couldn’t even tell if he was in…no. What’s going to happen is, if you’ll let me, I’m going to take care of you, make you feel so good that you’ll forget all about church boy. How does that sound?”

Do I want this? Do I want my potential first or possibly second time to be with some random guy at a random bar that I’ll never see again? But the way he moves, the way he touches me and speaks to me, and the way my body responds to him tells me it would be fun. Like really fun. And no one is here to tell me otherwise.

Summer of trying new things.

“I say…that sounds amazing.”

He smiles and I melt under it, more heat pooling between my legs the longer he looks at me.

“If at any time you wish to stop, tell me, ok? If it hurts or does not make you feel good, you tell me, ok?”

I nod.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Y-yes. Yes.”

He caresses my face, gently pulling me to him and presses his lips to mine. His fingers brush against my skin as he reaches for the clasp on my bra, quickly undoing it and sliding it down my arms with the speed of an expert. Once it's off, I feel more self conscious, having never really exposed myself like this before. Javier crooks his finger, tipping my chin up to look at him, his eyes black with lust in the shitty hotel light.

"You're so beautiful," he says, kissing me again as he puts slight pressure on my body to get me to lay down.

I do and he lays on his side, propping himself up with his arm as he looks at me, his eyes sliding down to my chest. He lightly trails his fingertips across my shoulders, slowly moving down to my boobs. He gently cups one and I let out a puff of air, the touch sending tingles between my legs. His thumb glides across one of my nipples and a whine comes from somewhere within me, my back arching. He takes advantage of this angle and brings his mouth to my nipple, warm and wet, licking, sucking, and slightly biting at me.

"Oh!" Is all I can seem to remember how to say as he shifts to my other boob, giving it the same treatment.

His hand is on my stomach, gently resting and grounding me here. But as he starts to suck harder, my back arching more off the bed, his hand starts to trace small lines down, pausing at the line to my underwear. He pulls his head up, looking down at me until I open my eyes, not realizing I had closed them in the first place.

"I'm going to touch you now, Hermosa. Is that ok?"

I nod, my chest heaving with anticipation. "Yes."

His light touch down the inside of my thigh, tracing the line of my underwear and going up the other side sends jolts of something through me, gathering between my legs and I find myself begging him, for what I'm not exactly sure. But then his hand slides under my panties, his finger gliding through the slick he finds there and I almost launch myself off the bed, a sound I’ve never heard before erupting from my throat. He uses the pad of his pointer finger to rub small circles on a very specific spot on me and I cry his name, and overwhelming feeling coming over me, like I was about to explode.

“S-stop!”

Jaiver immediately stops and pulls his hand from me, his eyes on my face, his brow furrowed with concern. “Did I hurt you?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“What did you feel?”

“I…I…”

“You can tell me, hermosa.” His eyes are so big and concerned and I know he just wants to make sure I’m ok.

“It..it felt like…I don’t know, like…like I was about to…explode? I think?”

The furrow releases and he cocks his head at me. “Hermosa…have you never?”

“Never…what?”

“Had an orgasm?”

I blush, feeling warmth spread across my cheeks at the mention of this taboo word. Well, taboo in my house anyway.

“I..I don’t know?”

He places a hand over mine, the warmth from his palm spreading across the top of my hand. “It’s ok. Just…let yourself go with it. Don’t fight it.”

I can’t meet his eyes, embarrassed by my lack of knowledge. “Will it…will it hurt?”

He smiles. “Quite the opposite.”

I nod, a little relieved at that. “Ok…just..relax?”

“Yes. Just feel it, feel how good it makes you feel and just let it come.”

I nod, giving him a little smile and his hand slides back down me, rubbing little circles in what I’m calling my magic spot. The heat comes back, my hips lifting to get more pressure and I can feel the explosion building, trying to claw it’s way out of me, my mouth hanging open until-

“OH!” A string of gasps and sounds rip from my throat as the explosion fans out from where Javier was touching me, gliding along all my nerves and out to everywhere, my fingertips, my toes, my head tingles as I continue making sounds I’ve never heard before. Only when my legs start to shake does Javier stop, placing a kiss to the inside of my hip as he waits for me. I open my eyes, chest heaving as I try to process what happened.

“Feel good?” He asks.

“Is that…is that what it feels like?”

“If someone knows what they’re doing. Or you do it yourself.”

“You can do that to yourself??”

He chuckles. “I’ll let you figure that one out on your own. But right now, I really must taste you.”

“What does that mean?”

He looks at me darkly as he shifts over me, pushing my legs apart like it was nothing and slotting his shoulder between them. He smirks at me before lowering his head and-

“Oh shit!”

His tongue is on me, caressing the places where his fingers had once been, and my skin is still sensitive from before. I can feel my thighs banging on the sides of his head, but this seems to urge him on further, his nose nuzzling into me to coax more breathy sounds from my lips.

He lifts his head slightly, looking up at me before licking his hand and placing it on me, sliding his fingers down and circling me before slowly, gently, pushing in a finger. It’s warm, his finger, as he pumps it in and out of me, moving it in a circle as if to stretch me, just a few times before he lowers his head again, his tongue on me as he pushes in a second finger. I’m moaning, hips trying to wiggle away from him but he’s pinned me to the bed, lapping at me like he’d never tasted anything so good. I look down at him and the sight sends the explosion between my legs again, a yell erupting from me as he keeps pumping his fingers, curling them to hit something inside of me that makes the explosion more intense than the first one. He sits up, wiping his face, smiling at me.

“You taste amazing, hermosa.”

“That’s..yeah…ok…I…uh huh…”

Javier chuckles but moves up my body, slotting his hips between my legs, the bulge in his jeans rubbing against me, that now familiar warmth spreading quickly. His lips press to mine and I taste a tang, which must be me, and he deepens it, pushing hair off of my face before he pulls back and looks at me.

“How are you doing?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this good.”

He chuckles, but slides off my body and stands up, his arm muscles rippling as he pushes himself up. He reaches for the button on his pants and pops it open, sliding them down, revealing that he was not wearing any form of underwear. When he stands straight his dick bounces slightly, and I swallow hard, my eyes glued to him. I try to look away, embarrassed by my staring, but Javier assures me it’s ok to look.

“Will you fit?” I ask, nearly whispering.

He lowers himself to the bed, crawling over me until he pushes his hips against mine, his hard cock pinned between us.

“I will. I made sure to stretch you out before. But if anything hurts, tell me, ok?”

“I….ok.”

He kisses me, grinding his hips down and against that spot he rubbed before and I feel the heat coming back, tingles shooting through me as he increases the pressure. He pulls his hips back and I can feel him, hesitating a moment as he looks down at me before slowly pushing in.

“Oh! Oh, what…ugh!”

I have nothing to compare him to but I imagine he’s not exactly small, pushing slowly into me and pulling out to give me time to adjust.

“Stop!”

He freezes and starts to pull out but I grab his arms. “No, just…don’t move. Give me a sec, please.”

He doesn’t move, his eyes on me as I take several deep breaths. It does hurt a little, but it also feels good. Really good. Like he was made for me and I for him. I nod, telling him I’m ok and he starts pushing in again. Eventually his hips can go no further - or so I thought. He adds a small little thrust and I’m seeing stars, my hands reaching for him but stopping just short of grabbing him, unsure of where to be.

“You can touch me, hermosa. Whatever you feel, just follow it.”

He slowly melds his hips to mine, thrusting deeper and I wrap my arms around him, fingernails digging into his back. One of my hands finds the back of his head and I run my fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. He moans, practically purring, so I give it a little tug, loving the sound of the growl he makes when I do this. He snaps his hips a hair faster, my breathy moans echoing in the small room, and the newly familiar tingle between my legs comes racing back. Javier wraps his arrms under my legs, pushing them up and further back, changing the angle and rubbing against something inside of me that pushes me over the edge, my body feeling like it’s exploding all over again.

“Ja-Jav-Javier!” I cry out, my head pushing back into the pillow, my mouth hanging open as my fingernails carve even deeper crescent moons into his tanned skin. A few more thrusts from him and he grunts, little breathy moans spilling from his lips, his eyes closed as he leans over me, nipping at my chin.

We lay like that for a few moments, each of us heavy breathing against the other before Javier pulls out with a small grunt, heading into the bathroom and remerging with a wet cloth. He kneels on the bed and presses the cloth to me and my legs twitch, a smirk appearing on his face as he continues to clean me up. He tosses the cloth towards the bathroom and places a kiss on the inside of my knee, resting his jaw against it as he looks at me, his eyes soft in the dim light of the room.

“How do you feel, hermosa?”

“I feel…” How do I explain this feeling? Complete relaxation, a pleasant, low vibrating feeling throughout my body that makes my eyelids heavy, and what I know is a dopey smile on my face.

“I’ve never felt this good in my life.”

He smiles and I melt under it. “Good. I wanted to make sure you were properly taken care of. It’s a crime that it’s taken this long for someone so beautiful.”

I’m blushing, looking away as if he wasn’t buried impossibly deep inside of me mere minutes ago. He turns, looking around at the ground for his clothes and suddenly I find myself more insecure, vulnerable. I know he was leaving for an extended work trip in the morning, and I was leaving to head home, which is hours away. Still, I didn’t want him to leave just yet.

“Um..Javier?”

He pauses in his search for a sock. “Yes, hermosa?”

“Could, um…I mean, would you…”

He looks up at me and his face softens as he realizes what I’m attempting to ask. “Do you want me to stay?”

“I…only if you want to. I don’t want to impose…”

Javier sets the pants he was holding down on the table and crosses the room to the bed. He pulls back the blanket and slides in next to me, pulling me close to his chest.

“I have an early flight but I can stay until then.”

My body relaxes into him. “Are you sure?”

He nods, kissing the top of my head. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

—-

Javier

It's early, the sun not quite cresting over the horizon to start the day. A glance at the clock told him that he needed to leave to make it to the airport in time for his flight to Bogotá.

Javier runs a hand over his face, pinching his eyes to try and help him wake up. He turns to look at the woman beside him. She's still fast asleep, her bare chest rising and falling softly with deep sleep, her mouth hanging slightly open. Her hand is on his bare chest, like she didn't want to let him go.

He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay and learn more about this woman. He'd intended to go to the bar and get one last fuck in before he went to Colombia, not knowing what he'd find waiting for him there. But when he saw Vanessa, something intrigued him. She was young, and most likely lying about her age a bit, but she seemed confident, although a tad naive. She was smart, damn was she smart, and a wit to match his own. Plus she was easily the most gorgeous woman he'd ever laid eyes on.

Javier picks up her hand from his chest, pressing a kiss to the back of it, gently laying it on the bed next to her. His eyes raked over her face and the words of his late mother came back to him, words she'd spoken to him when he was just a young boy.

"Javier, if you like a girl, give her flowers. But if you love her, give her roses."

Javier wouldn't say he was in love with her already, but something inside him said there was the potential for love. It just wasn't the right time. He had to go fight Escobar and she had to go back to Corpus Christi, the only memory of him some possible soreness between her legs.

He almost missed his flight but it was worth it to find a place that sold roses, buying a single one to leave on the pillow next to her. He wanted her to know she was more than an easy fuck to him. That she, in that moment, was cared for and not taken advantage of.

He lays the rose down, tucking some hair behind her ear and placing a soft kiss to her slightly parted lips before he leaves, quietly closing the door behind him and heading towards what would be the hardest 6 years of his life.

—----

In the morning he’s gone, the clock on the beside table telling me it was nearly 10am. I stretch, feeling a sore but pleasant feeling between my thighs and I sigh, remembering the nights activities. I turn and, on the pillow next to me, is a single red rose. I smile, picking it up and giving it a sniff, it’s sweet perfume filling my brain with even more images of last night. I liked Javier and I got the feeling he liked me, despite the obvious age gap. And the fact that I lied a little about my age. We seemed to have a connection and it makes me a little sad that we won’t get the chance to explore that.

“I’ll never see that man again,” I say to myself, sighing a little before getting ready to leave.

If I only knew how wrong I was.

-------

>>Part 2>>

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21@gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @marrianena @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics

128 notes · View notes

thecalendarwomen · 1 year

Text

Viking historian Nancy Marie Brown’s new book, The Real Valkyrie: The Hidden History of Viking Warrior Women, explores what life might have been like for the warrior woman of Bj 581. Using more evidence from the recent tests conducted on the remains, Brown traces her journey from Norway to the British Isles to Kiev then, finally, to Birka. Brown imagines the unnamed warrior meeting other prominent Viking women, such as Gunnhild, Mother of Kings, or Queen Olga, ruler of the Rus Vikings in Kiev. She also explores the Viking sagas and contemporary sources with a new lens.

Atlas Obscura spoke with Brown about her new book, valkyries, and the assumptions that underlie the history we think we know.

How did you initially get interested in Vikings—and female Vikings in particular?

When I went to college, I actually wanted to study fantasy writing and, you know, learn to write like Tolkien. I learned very quickly that that was not appropriate for an English major in the 1970s, so I decided to study what Tolkien studied, and he was a professor at Oxford University, teaching Old English and Old Norse. So I started reading all of the Icelandic sagas that I could find in translation. And when I ran out of the English versions, I learned Old Norse so that I could read the rest of them.

One of the things I liked about [the sagas] the most was that they had really interesting women characters. There’s a queen in Norway who appears in about 11 sagas, Queen Gunnhild, Mother of Kings. She led armies. She devised war strategy. And then I was looking at the valkyries and the shieldmaids and thinking, you know, these are really interesting people that have always been considered to be mythological.

So when I learned in 2017 that one of the most famous Viking warrior burials turned out to be the burial of a woman, that just absolutely dazzled my imagination.

Is this the first confirmed grave of a female warrior that we have?

This is the one that has the best proof. There are one or two others that have since been DNA tested and proven to be female. But in each of these cases, it’s hard to say if the person in the grave, whether male or female, actually was a warrior, or if the object that we are interpreting as a weapon was used for hunting or for some other purpose.

What do we know about the life of the Viking warrior woman in Bj 581?

In 2017, by testing her bones and her teeth, [scholars] could say she was between 30 and 40 years old when she died. They could also tell that she ate well all of her life. So she came from a rich family or maybe even a royal one. She was also quite tall, about 5’7”. By the minerals in her inner teeth, [scholars can determine] she may have come from southern Sweden or Norway, and also that she went west maybe as far as the British Isles before her molars finished forming. She didn’t arrive in Birka until she was 16.

We also have her weapons and a little bit of clothing that were found in the grave. And these link her to what is known as the Vikings’ East Way, which was the trade route from Sweden to the Silk Road.

We can link, through the artifacts and through the bones, that she could have traveled from as far west as Dublin to as far east as at least Kiev in the 30 to 40 years of her life.

How do we know that there were Viking warrior women?

They are mentioned many, many, many times in the literature. In most cases, they have been dismissed as mythological because, of course, we know warriors were men. But we don’t know that. That is an assumption that is based on traditional Victorian ideas that because women are mothers, they’re nurturing, they’re peacemakers, and they don’t fight.

That’s not historically true. Women have always fought. And they appear in most cultures until the 1800s, when Viking studies and archaeology pretty much started. So we sort of have this problem of bias in our earliest textbooks.

There’s this assumption that the warrior men of myth must have been based on real people, but it’s not the same for the mythical warrior women. Why is that?

It’s just an assumption based on what people think women are like. Most of the material we have from the Middle Ages was written by men, and most of the material we have until the 1950s was written by men, and women are slowly making their way into the field of Viking scholarship. But many of them are still working under the assumptions that they were taught.

I noticed when I went back and reread some of the sagas in Icelandic that there wasn’t this clear distinction between the warrior women being mythological and the warrior men being human. When you actually look at the old Norse text, there’s a lot of words that have been translated as “men” that actually mean “people,” but it’s always been translated as “men” because it’s a warrior situation.

Is it possible for historians to remove all of those biases?

No, I don’t think it is. I think we all are looking through our own lenses. But we have to revisit those sources every generation to see past biases. So when you have layer after layer after layer of removing biases, you may get closer to the truth.

What most surprised you in the course of researching your book?

One of the controversies right now in Viking studies is should we really be talking about men and women at all? Maybe there were all kinds of different genders. We don’t know if there were more than two genders in the Viking age. Maybe it was a spectrum.

If you look at this one group of sagas called the Sagas of Ancient Times that are often overlooked because they have all these fabulous creatures in them, like dragons and warrior women. It’s really interesting [because] these girls grow up wanting to be warriors. They’re constantly disobeying and trying to run off and join Viking bands. But when they do run off and join the Viking band, or, in another case, become the king of a town, they insist on being called by a male name and use male pronouns.

So it was very shocking to me to go back and read it in the original and say, “Wow, all this richness was lost in the translation.”

#Nancy Marie Brown #vikings #history #women in history #archaeology #women warriors #warfare #warrior women #norse history #atlas obscura

362 notes · View notes

someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae · 7 months

Text

Stress Reliever

Ler: Seonghwa

Lee: Reader

Warnings: fluff, stress, reader anxious, mentions of depressions

Genre: This fiction is about tickling, so if you don't feel like reading it then don't do it.

A/n: Sorry this isn't about the tickletober but I wanted to write it because I often take my feelings into my stories..

🖤⭐🖤⭐🖤⭐🖤⭐🖤⭐🖤⭐🖤⭐🖤⭐🖤

It has been a long week, even though it was only wednesday. The teachers this year love complicated homeworks and some just never explained their themes.

So the whole week you had that one teacher who stressed you so damnit much. She was (of course!) your maths teacher.

She was an old lady who teached the same themes and same classes for like 40 years now. Even parents of your friends had been teached in maths by her.

The problem was: she was ... special.

Very... special. For example, she had her own way to explain, and literally nobody (only the three maths geniouses in your class) understood it.

And when someone asked a question, she just explained another theme! She literally never explained the theme/question it self, she just said how beautiful your stuff was. Or how well drawn this exercise was. Or that you need to do this and this when you want to do this. But she never explained what you wanted her to explain. Ne.Ver.

The second problem was, that she introduced a new, complicated theme and you didn't understand it. Nothing you did made you understand it. And every day, she introduced new mini-themes to that theme.

Every. Goddamn. Day.

You did only get like 4/12. And that was not good. But you knew that yourself! You were so stressed because you were going to write an exam about that theme soon but you just didn't understand. So you were stressed. Very stressed.

Not only because of maths, but because you also were sick the last two days and had to review and copy all the stuff from your friends. You had already copied some stuff and done some homework, but not all.

So today you had school until 15:30 and came home at 16:40. Tomorrow was a vocabulary test in french.

You had to copy three worksheets in history because you'd need them the next day. Three work sheets. Full of text.

Besides that, there were the english homework: reading a 4 pages short story and analyzing it. Then maths -of course- because you had maths every singe day.

So you came home at 16:40, Seonghwa waiting for you. "Hey my friend, how was your day?" he asked as you came in.

You just waved and went busy into your room.

"Okay" you said, to not make him think about you. But no chance with Seonghwa.

He followed you -of course- and stood in the door, watching you worried.

"Hey... are you okay?" he asked. You just shook your head.

"Hey" he whispered. "I'm here for you" and came closer.

You took some deep breaths to hold back your tears and went in the kitchen to get some food because you were hungry.

Then you sat down in the kitchen at a table and started eating. He came to you and sat down next to you.

"Wanna talk?" he asked softly.

You just shook your head again, because if you talked, you would start crying. As you stopped eating and stood up, took your dishes into the cleaner and wanted to walk to your room again, he grabbed your arm as you were walking up next to him.

He pulled you closer and then in his lap. "You know I'm here for you, right? You can talk to me. I love you" he whispered.

A first tear now rolled down your cheek. "I know"

He wiped away the tear. "Sure you don't wanna talk?" he asked again.

"I'm just so ... stressed. I have so many homeworks and studies left and it's already 5pm! I gotta go shower today, I gotta study french vocabs, I gotta do maths, english history,... It's so much! I suffer from school. I mean, I'm only (your age) years old! I can't handle this all by myself. I don't understand maths, history is too much, i have problems remembering some vocabs in french and english is so much! I gotta study until midnight if i wanna do this all!" you whispered, a second tear rolling down your cheek.

"It's okay" he whispered back. "I'm here for you. I can help you. We can do this. I promise, I won't let you suffer. At least not alone. I'll always be here for you. I love you. Thank you for coming into my life."

You nodded lightly and hugged him. "Thank you Hwa".

"It's okay. I'm here for you. Now lemme see that smile again, cutie" he said and pinched your cheek softly.

You weren't able to react much, just lightly smile.

"Pleaseee? Pretty pleasee?" he said teasingly.

You giggled lightly because his behavior was so childish.

"Aww your giggles are so cute! And I know how to make you even cuter~" he said and smirked.

He let his hands slide under your hoodie and lightly clawed over your tummy. What indeed made you giggle.

But you didn't even care, you actually enjoyed it this time because you were so stressed and sad these days, you could really need a little cheer up.

And he felt that. That you needed it. So he went for your sides, ribs and back too, he scribbled and clawed all over them while you giggled your heart out.

As you cried tears from giggling and laughing so much, he stopped and hugged you.

You hugged him back and whispered a "thank you" into his ear.

He smiled softly. "You're welcome, sweetie" he said.

"And now we're gonna kick those stupid homeworks in their butts and beat them up, right?" he motivated you.

You laughed a bit. "Yeah, sure" you replied.

"And I'll help you <3" he whispered and tickled you under your chin quickly, before you both went to do your homework s and learn your vocabs.

In the end, you only needed 2 1/2 hours to complete it all with Seonghwa's help.

+End+

A/n: Sorry this fic is so depressing, but I tried my best. I just can't write these days, I know it. Just how I feel rn. Not interesting, I know .. but ..something. Also the tword scene isn't very long, so sorry for those who expected more. I understand you.

#kpop tickle #ateez #ateez tickle #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa tickle #ateez fluff #seonghwa fluff #seonghwa x reader #ateez x reader #ateez angst #seonghwa angst #stress #stressrelief #ateez stress reliever #i'm sorry guys

37 notes · View notes

loudestcloud · 2 years

Text

Fact vs myth: Yamato (with some Japanese lgbt in there for fun)

Fact: Yamato used he/him in English & masculine pronouns in Japanese, everyone calls Yamato by those pronouns in the canon text unless the character is shown to be disrespectful towards him.

Myth: Kiado calls Yamato his son because he always wanted instead. Its a myth because this information is never started, it has just been perpetuated by fans who are out of information to use as defense to an Illogical argument

Fact: Yamato's card says female with no additional information as yamato has not outright started he 'has the heart of a man'. Female isn't a gender, it's a sex. Women is a gender, female is a sex.

Fact: Yamato has been called She/her by people who do not care for him and are talking about him, not to him such as guards

Fact: Yamato was drawn in the mens school uniform in 'ONE PIECE High School Special Spread for ONE PIECE'S Chapter 1000 Shonen Jump'

Fact: Yamato used the mens bath with the other men who consented to him being in the room.

Fact: Yamato appears to love his body. This does not make him less of a man.

Fact: 63 percent of respondents to a survey said LGBT subjects should be taught at school. Only 11% of Japanese teachers teach LGBT issues in class. 30% want to teach the subjects but cant cos its difficult to teach and not written in textbooks. 15% do not understand the differences between same-sex relationships & gender dysphoria. 12% never learned about the two subjects. This is from 2021, the population now didn't even have these small numbers. You cannot expect them to check every box when they are not educated enough.

Fact: Momoiro Island, the Okama paradise translates to Peach island, the homosexual / transvestite / Drag queen island. Okama is often seen as slur against gay men and could be compared to the f slur in English speaking countries

Fact: Yamato figurers are in the ladies / women / girls collection

Fact: Yamato was in '[Scene2] ONE PIECE Vol.100/EP.1000 Celebration movie "WE ARE ONE."'

Myth: Eiichiro Oda makes everything One Piece so everything is down to him

Myth: Eiichiro Oda is an old man and doesn't know what worldwide audience wants

Fact: Eiichiro Oda is 47, he started One Piece when he was 24 and started manga all together when he was 17. He has 30 years experience and understands that the audience isn't just Japan anymore. He's not that dumb

Fact: Eiichiro Oda doesn't work closely with all projects and only has to greenlight the overall idea of them. However he has chosen to work closely with the netflix team due to the amount of new people it will be reaching

Fact: I thought id have more myths to clear up but I don't so if you have any let me know

#Yamato #one piece #Eiichiro Oda #one piece yamato #yamato one piece #One piece lgbt #lgbt #manga #one piece manga

631 notes · View notes

homomenhommes · 28 days

Text

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … March 30

1844 – Paul Verlaine, French poet, born, (d.1896); Born in Metz, he was educated in Paris and then took up a post in the civil service. He began writing poetry at an early age.

Verlaine's private life spills over into his work, beginning with his love for Mathilde Mauté de Fleurville. Mauté became Verlaine's wife in 1870. At the proclamation of the Third Republic in the same year, Verlaine joined the 160th battalion of the Garde nationale, turning Communard on 18 March 1871.

He became head of the press bureau of the Central Committee of the Paris Commune. Verlaine escaped the deadly street fighting known as the Bloody Week, or Semaine Sanglante, and went into hiding in the Pas-de-Calais.

Verlaine returned to Paris in 1871, and, in September, he received the first letter from Arthur Rimbaud. By 1872, he had lost interest in Mathilde, and effectively abandoned her and their son, preferring the company of his new lover, Rimbaud.

Rimbaud and Verlaine's stormy affair took them to London in 1872. In July 1873 in a drunken, jealous rage, he fired two shots with a pistol at Rimbaud, wounding his left wrist, though not seriously injuring the poet. As an indirect result of this incident, Verlaine was arrested and imprisoned at Mons, where he underwent a conversion to Roman Catholicism, which again influenced his work and provoked Rimbaud's sharp criticism.

The poems collected in Romances sans paroles (1874) were inspired by Verlaine's recollections of his life with Mathilde on the one hand and impressionistic sketches of his on-again off-again year-long escapade with Rimbaud on the other. Romances sans paroles was published while Verlaine was imprisoned.

Following his release from prison, Verlaine again traveled to England, where he worked for some years as a teacher, Boston, and Bournemouth. He returned to France in 1877 and, while teaching English, fell in love with one of his pupils, Lucien Létinois, who inspired Verlaine to write further poems. Verlaine was devastated when Létinois died of typhus in 1883.

Verlaine's last years saw his descent into drug addiction, alcoholism, and poverty. He lived in slums and public hospitals, and spent his days drinking absinthe in Paris cafes. His drug dependence and alcoholism caught up with him and took a toll on his life. Paul Verlaine died in Paris at the age of 51 on 8 January 1896;

But did he in fact write a poem that is almost certain never to be taught in French 101 — the so-called "Sonnet to an Asshole"? The chances are that he did. Even in English, the poem reflects the musical quality that was Verlaine's hallmark: "Dark and wrinkled like a deep pink, / It breathes, humbly nestled among the moss / Still wet with love ...

1867 – Alaska is purchased from Russia. All Russian law had been abrogated there five years earlier, and Congress passes no criminal code for it, meaning that sodomy is legal.

1933 – Jean-Claude Brialy, French actor and director, born (d.2007); a French actor, director and socialite who starred in French films, Brialy was born in Aumale, French Algeria, where his father was stationed with the French Army. Brialy moved to mainland France with his family in 1942, to Paris in 1954, and appeared in his first film in 1955.

When he went to Paris in 1954 it was without much money because his parents refused to help him, but with the hope of an acting career. He became friendly with a group of young critics on the influential magazine Cahiers du Cinéma, but before he could achieve his ambition, he was called up for military service in Germany. While on leave, he and a number of friends, among them Claude Chabrol, Jean-Luc Godard and Jacques Rivette, piled into an old Buick and drove from Paris to Provence to appear as extras in Jean Renoir's production of Julius Cesar in the Roman arena in Arles. "All night they spoke of cinema, in a manner that I hadn't heard before," Brialy recalled. "They were like a clandestine group plotting revolution. Most of them were hardly 20 years old. They spoke with incredible clarity of Rossellini, Hitchcock and Renoir as connoisseurs speak of Mozart and Beethoven."

In France, he went on to become one of the most prominent figures in the arts, prolific in films, on television and in the theatre; a brilliant raconteur with the air of a boulevardier, he was also one of the few French stars to be openly gay.

He became a star in the late 1950s when he was one of the most prolific actors of the French "nouvelle vague." He made films with such important nouvelle vague filmmakers as Claude Chabrol, Eric Rohmer, Jean-Luc Godard, Louis Malle, Francois Truffaut, Agnes Varda and Jacques Rozier; and with other filmmakers such as Roger Vadim, Claude Lelouche and Luis Bunuel. He was also himself a director of a number of films, including Eglantine (1971).

In his autobiographies, Le Ruisseau des singes (River of Monkeys) (2000) and J'ai oublié de vous dire... (I Forgot to Tell You ...) (2004), he revealed that he was bisexual.

"Saddle Tramp"

1949 – Tank aka Paul Clark Tankersley, American artist, born in Nassau County, NY, died 1992 in Dallas, Texas. The overriding aesthetic of his work was the glorification of the American Cowboy. Working mainly in graphite and colored pencil, occasionally in oils, Tank displayed a strong eye for realism. In his drawings, one had a sense that each man stood alone, strong and upright - truly capturing the spirit of the cowboy, the farmhand and other stoic men. His work also underscored the bond between men, and suggested a strong current of eroticism.

"Roped"

He was very fond of the work he created and rarely parted with an original. Instead, he produced high quality photo prints available by mail order and at Gay Rodeo weekends. TANK's career was tragically interrupted by his sudden death of AIDS complications in 1992. His artwork has been showcased in several national publications across Canada, Europe and Australia.

1964 – Tracy Chapman, American singer, born; Although Chapman has never spoken publicly about her sexuality, Pulitzer Prize-winning author Alice Walker discussed her love affair with Chapman in an interview with The Guardian on December 15th 2006. She explained why they did not go public with their relationship at the time (the mid 1990s), and said "[the relationship] was delicious and lovely and wonderful and I totally enjoyed it and I was completely in love with her, but it was not anybody's business but ours."

After waiting to graduate college, Chapman signed to Elektra Records, releasing Tracy Chapman (1988). The album was critically acclaimed, and she began touring and building a fanbase. Soon after she performed it at the televised Nelson Mandela 70th Birthday Tribute concert in June 1988, Chapman's "Fast Car" began its rise on the US charts, eventually becoming a Top 10 pop hit on the Billboard Hot 100. "Talkin' 'bout a Revolution," the follow-up, charted at #75, and was followed by "Baby Can I Hold You," which peaked at #48 The album sold well, going multi- platinum and winning three Grammys, including an honor for Chapman as Best New Artist.

In 1988, Chapman was a featured performer on the worldwide Amnesty International Human Rights Now! Tour. Chapman often performs at and attends AIDS charity events such as AMFAR and AIDS/LifeCycle

Chapman maintains a strong separation between her personal and professional life. "I have a public life that's my work life and I have my personal life," she said. "In some ways, the decision to keep the two things separate relates to the work I do."

1966 – The Oregon Supreme Court upholds the sodomy conviction of two lovers, one of whom has cross-dressed.

1967 – Gerald McCullouch is an award-winning American actor, director, screenwriter, and singer. He is best known for playing Bobby Dawson on CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.

McCullouch, an Irish-American, was born in Huntsville, Alabama. He first got his professional performing job at 16 was as a singer in the country western revue at Six Flags Over Georgia. He declined a scholarship to Savannah College of Art and Design to study in the BFA Musical Theatre Program at Florida State University. After surviving a near fatal car crash during his sophomore year, which left him in a coma, he began his career in Atlanta, Georgia.

McCullouch has been interviewedin many publications, including the New York Daily News, Los Angeles Daily News, Jezebel, The Advocate, and the Instinct.

In January 2009, McCullough was on the New York City subway when a man attempted to steal his laptop; McCullough, a trained boxer, successfully fought him off, even when the thief attempted to stab him with a kitchen knife. The thief was arrested by New York City police officers. He had previously been robbed at gunpoint in Atlanta in 2001.

McCullough is openly gay and has directed and starred in several gay-themed productions, including Bear City and Bear City 2.

In 2014, he revealed that he was in a relationship with college basketball player Derrick Gordon.

1972 – Vestal McIntyre is an American author currently based in the UK. He was born in Nampa, Idaho, and educated at Tufts University, Massachusetts. He lived for many years in New York City, where he was a waiter at Restaurant Florent in the Meatpacking District.

He claims to have three gay siblings, brothers and sisters, and tells of how his mother handled the fact:

It was very difficult at first, especially for my mother who was deeply religious and had led a sheltered life. She said she hadn't even known gay people existed growing up! But she and my dad both loved us a lot and were open-minded, intelligent people. My mother ended up standing up for us in church. American Baptist churches all had to vote whether they'd be "open and affirming" or "open and transforming" to gay people. (Transforming, meaning gays and lesbians would have to become straight in order to stay members.) My mom stood up at a deacon's meeting and said, "I have four gay children, and they grew up in this church and we need to make them feel welcome!" This, from a woman who, a few years before, could not get the word "gay" out of her mouth! I tell that story all the time—I'm so proud of her.

His first collection of short stories, You Are Not the One, was published by the independent Scottish publisher Canongate in 2006. His follow-up book, Lake Overturn, was published in 2009, and won the Grub Street National Book Prize and the Lambda Literary Award for Gay Fiction.

He now lives in southeast London, where he is working on a second novel and wrapping up a collection of stories based on his years in New York.

1984 – Died: Gaëtan Dugas (b.1953) who was a Canadian who worked for Air Canada as a flight attendant. Dugas became notorious as the alleged patient zero for AIDS.

A study published in the American Journal of Medicine in 1984 traced many of New York City's early HIV infections to an unnamed infected homosexual male flight attendant. Epidemiologists hypothesized that Dugas had carried the virus out of Africa and introduced it into the Western gay community.

Dugas was described as being a charming, handsome sexual athlete, who, according to his own estimation, averaged hundreds of sex partners a year. He claimed to have had over 2,500 sexual partners across North America since becoming sexually active in 1972.

As a flight attendant Dugas was able to travel the globe, at little cost, to such early HIV epicenters as London and Paris in Europe and Los Angeles, New York City, and San Francisco in the U.S. Being diagnosed with Kaposi's Sarcoma in June 1980, and after being warned that this could be caused and spread by a sexually transmitted virus, Dugas refused to stop having unprotected sex, claiming that he could do what he wanted with his body. He allegedly informed some of his sex partners, just after having sex, that he had the "gay cancer" and perhaps they would get it too.

Dugas died in Quebec City on March 30, 1984 as a result of kidney failure caused by continual AIDS-related infections.

TODAY'S GAY WISDOM

Translation Note: This is the only poem known to have been composed jointly by Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine. The Parnassien poet Albert Mérat had published a book of sonnets entitled L'Idole, in which each poem extolled a part of his mistress' body — with one omission, which the two young homosexual poets and lovers proceeded to "rectify." This sonnet appeared in the Album Zutique, a book of scabrous parodies by the Parisian literary circle who called themselves Les Zutistes.

Sonnet to an Asshole Dark and wrinkled like a violet carnation, It sighs, humbly nestling in the moss still moist from love That follows the descent of sweet white cheeks Down to their edge. Filaments like tears of milk Have wept beneath the cruel south wind That drives them back across the little clots of russet clay, And disappeared there where the slope has called them. My Dream has often kissed its opening; My Soul, that envies mortal intercourse Has chosen this to be its wild and musky nest of sobs. It is the swooning olive and the sweet cajoling flute The tube through which celestial creamy pralines tumble down Female Promised Land rimmed round with dew! et en Francais :Sonnet du Trou du Cul Obscur et froncé comme un oeillet violet Il respire, humblement tapi parmi la mousse Humide encor d'amour qui suit la fuite douce Des Fesses blanches jusqu'au coeur de son ourlet. Des filaments pareils à des larmes de lait Ont pleuré, sous le vent cruel qui les repousse, À travers de petits caillots de marne rousse Pour s'aller perdre où la pente les appelait. Mon Rêve s'aboucha souvent à sa ventouse ; Mon âme, du coït matériel jalouse, En fit son larmier fauve et son nid de sanglots. C'est l'olive pâmée, et la flûte caline, C'est le tube où descend la céleste praline : Chanaan féminin dans les moiteurs enclos !

10 notes · View notes

moregraceful · 15 days

Text

firebirds don't do a thing but sing // roads in the desert, take me home

;;

Ron Francis signs a Czech goalie midway through the Pacific Division semis. Chris can see the writing on the wall and it gives him a headache through June.

Even before training camp in the fall, even when they’re still in the fucking valley, everyone knows: Joey’s getting the call-up next year, not Chris. Philipp is guaranteed a spot, if not the starter position. Bylsma doesn’t have to say it, but he does anyway, because he’s a good man: “we need you down here. The boys need you down here.”

He says it firmly, but gently, a couple days after their loss to Hershey.

Chris doesn’t drink to excess anymore and is done with drugs completely, so mostly what he’s rocking in that meeting is minor league fatigue. Bylsma looks exhausted, but he’s kind throughout it. “Take the summer,” says Bylsma. “Train, work hard, but take some time for yourself too.”

Chris’s fiancee broke up with him and took the dogs with her right around the time the doctors said he’d be out for the season last year. He’d been nurturing some grief about it, but maybe it’s good that he doesn’t have anyone else to worry about, if he’s staying in the minor leagues another year.

Actually, it’s starting to look like both franchises want him in the desert full time. That gives him a headache too.

Campbell’s way less gentle than Bylsma when they go out for drinks before the team splits from town. But she’s only two years older than him, so she can get away with being kind of a jackass to him. “Yeah, it fuckin’ sucks,” she says, over her beer. “I know it does. Don’t—” she says, when Chris makes a face at her. “I know it does, Chris. But you have a lot to teach whoever comes next.”

Chris says, flatly, “who’s next, Jessica?”

The Czech goalie Francis signed in May is 26 years old. That’s a vet. That’s a signing because Francis can’t find anyone better to back Chris up.

Campbell cringes.

There’s no one else in the pipeline. All two of their teenage goalie prospects are abroad, not ready for North America, too young. The Kraken’s goalie prospect pipeline was Joey. At least Chris will be the starter in Palm Desert, provided the Czech goalie isn’t taller, hotter, with a reliable body and a clean history, a good work ethic and propensity for joy that feels increasingly out of reach for Chris.

Maybe he’s feeling some kinda way about it. He hates it when he gets bitter. Nothing good ever came from him being bitter.

He wishes he could drink all this shit away, wishes drugs didn’t fuck with his head, books a two-week-long trip to a hot spring in the Northwest Territories for his achy joints and bad attitude instead and leaves his phone off the whole time. Alone. All alone. Turns his phone back on when he gets to Winnipeg and finds himself in a new Kraken goalie groupchat with Philipp, Joey, and Aleš Stekza, courtesy of Joey, who never knows when to stop.

Aleš Stekza is a charmer. His written English is careful and precise, but when Chris meets him at rookie camp, he’s intense and effusive, slapping Chris on the back like they’ve been friends for years in the first 30 seconds, bumping shoulders with him in the locker room, grinning at Chris like Chris means anything more than another vet he’s fighting with for a roster spot.

Joey’s great at making guys feel at home in the organization, Chris thinks, but when he says as much to Joey, Joey says he learned that from Chris in his first year with the org. Aleš gets a training camp invite after rookie camp, which makes all three of them pretty happy, because Aleš has a steady attitude, and he’s a hard worker, and a good culture fit.

He’s also very, very good. It makes Chris restless about whether he’s a back-up in Coachella again, or it’s going to be a 1A-1B thing. He looks up Aleš to see his stats from his play in Czechia, and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Why a guy goes from being voted Czechia’s best goaltender to wanting to play in the AHL, he’s not sure. At least in Extraliga, they house you.

Philipp has all the goalies, rookies, rostered, invites, all, over to his house for a barbecue that he has catered. Chris makes merciless fun of him when he gets there early to help Philipp set up; Philipp smiles at him like he wants something from Chris, and Chris can kind of guess what, but then the doorbell starts ringing.

Aleš spends a lot of time badgering Chris about Coachella at the party. Is it warm, what is the food like, where does he live, what is the team like, what size are the cars, how are the fans, what is California like, how far away are they from Seattle, what is it like, how does it all fit together, where does Christ fit in, where will he. Philipp watches from the other side of the yard, drink in hand, and even though he’s surrounded by kids destined for the ECHL, he still raises his glass to Chris. Good luck, he mouths.

Chris and Aleš get sent down shortly after, surprising absolutely no one. Joey looks hurt, somehow, when Briere tells them all in a meeting, all the goalies left at the end of camp, who is getting sent down and where. Like Joey really thought he could keep Chris with him. Chris wonders where the kid gets it. Joey’s too old to think that he can play with his friends if he’s good enough to the world around him.

Aleš and Chris go to the desert. Philipp and Joey stay in Seattle. Chris drives Aleš and Marian down from Seattle to Palm Desert in his SUV and learns 50 new swear Czech and Slovak insults in a day and half. They don’t stop anywhere for the night; no time. Him and Marian switch off driving, since Aleš doesn’t have an American driver’s license, and Marian is a trooper, doesn’t complain at all.

Late night driving through some fuck ass part of the Central Valley, when the car is quiet except for a playlist Philipp made for Chris in the background and Marian snoring in the backseat, Chris glances at Aleš. Aleš had tasked himself with keeping the two of them awake at night, but he’d been silent for so long that Chris wondered if he’d fallen asleep.

Aleš has his face pressed to the window. Chris clicks his tongue to get his attention. Aleš looks over. He looks fascinated.

“I have never seen so many cows in one pen,” he says.

Chris pulls off at a rest stop to stretch his legs; four hours left in the drive and Marian is passed the fuck out in the third row. He gets out of the car and Aleš follows him to a picnic table under fluorescent lights.

He’s wearing a Kraken hoodie Chris lent him for the drive. It has Chris’s number on it. Chris feels something curl tight in his chest at the sight.

He sits across from Aleš at the picnic table. Aleš hands him some weird Pacific Northwest stimulant drink that’s supposed to fuck with your gut less than Red Bull. It tastes like flat carbonated water, but Chris has to admit it has not yet given him stomach upset.

Chris takes it and cracks it open. He drinks half of it, making a face, before handing it back to Aleš.

Aleš actually likes that kind of PNW granola shit, is the problem. He’s a good culture fit. Philipp had whispered it in Chris’s ear when he hugged him goodbye; take care of the guy, he’s a good fit for the franchise, just like you.

Chris sits across from Aleš. He studies Aleš: the laugh lines around his eyes, his strong jaw, his thinning hair that he doesn’t gel outside of game days, sticking out from under Chris’s hoodie. He looks at Aleš’s hands, his strong fingers, his thick wrists. His knees bump against Chris’s because the picnic table is small.

Aleš looks back. Whatever he sees in Chris makes him smile.

#i decided this was simply no longer any of my business and wish to set it free not on ao3 #unfortunate birdcage fanfictions #the ahler poster is coming through...

9 notes · View notes

hannahhook7744 · 10 months

Text

Modern Merlin Moodboards (Part 1) (Revamped);

Character: George the servant.

Modern name: George Brass.

Age: 37 years old.

Modern job: Butler who doubles as a deadly body guard and an occasional chauffeur.

Short rundown of their modern life: George grew up responsible for his very ill mother, his younger brother—Morris, and his younger cousin, Tyr, in Britain.

After his mother's death when he was 24, he moved to America with his brother (Morris) and cousin (Tyr) for a new start where he would go on to meet his employers (Elena and William Knightley) who hired him nearly immediately after looking at his resume.

He's worked for them ever since and has met both his wife, Winnie, and his sister-in-law, Sefa, through his job.

Because of this and how well they have treated his family, George has become their unofficial (deadly) body guard. Making sure no harm reaches them—like he use to do for the servants back when he was just George the servant. Unbeknownst to him (in this life) and the others (in the last).

Character: Bronwen the servant.

Modern name: Winnie Brass.

Age: 37 years old.

Modern job: Private Music Tutor.

Short rundown of their modern life: Winnie Brass was born into a poor family and knew from a young age that she wanted to be a singer.

After the death of her parents when she was in her late 20s, she got back in contact with her cousin Elena who hired her to be a musical tutor for her recently adopted son, Marcel. Through this job she met George and within two years, the two where married. Now the two live in a three bedroom home with George's brother, cousin, and sister-in-law.

Character: Morris the servant.

Modern name: Morris Brass.

Age: 34 years old.

Modern job: Gardner and occasional babysitter.

Short rundown of their modern life: After the death of his mother, he moved from Britain to America with his brother and cousin for a fresh start and he started working For Will and Elena Knightley as a Gardner and an occasional babysitter for their son, Marcel.

He also met his wife, Sefa, through his job and now the two of them live with his brother, sister-in-law, and cousin.

Character: Sefa the maidservant.

Modern name: Sefa Brass.

Age: 30 years old.

Modern job: Housekeeper.

Short rundown of their modern life: Sefa Brass ('nee Bourne) was born to a soldier turned government official of a small country that's name she was never allowed to learn. Her father raised her from birth to be the perfect spy and sent her and her brother on countless missions that went off without a hitch until her brother went missing when she was 14 and he was 7.

A year later while on a mission her father failed to pick her up from the rendezvou point causing her to wait for days before wandering the street to look for him.

Which caused her to meet Gwen who gave her a job and a roof to stay under until she found a better opportunity, slowly teaching her English as she did so.

Eventually Sefa found a job application in the paper and became a maid for The Knightleys which led her to meeting her husband, Morris, who's family she and her brother now live with.

Character: Tyr Seward.

Modern name: Tyr Brass.

Age: 27 years old.

Modern job: Stable hand.

Short rundown of their modern life: Tyr Seward was raised by his aunt after his mother died of an illness when he was 5. He lived with her and his two cousins until her death when he was 14, which caused his two cousins to move to America with him for a fresh start.

He grew to know the Knightleys (his cousins' employers) well and eventually went to work for them after he dropped out of high school when he was 18.

He now lives with his cousins and their wives in a three bed room home.

Character: Sir Elyan.

Modern name: Elyan Smith.

Age: 40 years old.

Modern job: Photographer and Travel Blogger.

Short rundown of their modern life: Elyan Smith was born to a poor family and ran away from home when he was 15 not long after his mother died, feeling like he was a burden to his family.

Not long after his father's death, Elyan got back into contact with his sister and became a travel blogger and a photographer, promoting the businesses of his sister and her friend when he did so.

He ended up meeting his wife, Mithian, at Will and Elena's wedding when he was hired to photograph the event and they married three years later.

Not long after Elyan married her, the two began volunteering at Tristian and Izzy's Youth Center, which is how they ended up adopting their two sons, Salem and Clover, after Elyan saved them from drowning.

Character: Princess Mithian of Nemeth.

Modern name: Mithian Smith (nee Nemeth).

Age: 37 years old.

Modern job: Nurse.

Short rundown of their modern life: Mithian Smith (nee Nemeth) was born in the Netherlands to rich socialites and moved to the United States after her father's passing.

Not long after she moved, she attended her good friend, Elena's, wedding where she met her future husband, Elyan, who was the wedding photographer as well as Will's best friend, Merlin, and Merlin's family who quickly became a good friend.

She went onto befriend him, started medical school, and a year she started dating him. Two years after, the pair married and started volunteering at Tristian and Izzy's Youth center, where they went on to meet and adopt their two sons, Salem and Clover, after Elyan saved them from drowning.

She now lives with her husband and sons in a house not far from Gwen's shop, and works in the same hospital as Merlin.

Character: Shrine Boy.

Modern name: Salem Smith.

Age: 11 years old.

Modern job: None. He's a student.

Short rundown of their modern life: Salem Smith was born Salem Shrine and grew up a foster kid who spent most of his time at Tristian and Izzy's Youth center to escape the terrible loneliness he felt.

Until one day where he was saved from drowning by Elyan Smith who adopted him with his wife not long after when he was 7.

A year later, he became a big brother when Elyan saved yet another kid from drowning (this time in a flood) and adopted him.

Now he lives with his family in a house not far from his aunt Gwen's shop.

Character: Ghost Boy.

Modern name: Clover Smith.

Age: 5 years old.

Modern job: None. He's a student.

Short rundown of their modern life:

Clover Smith is an amnesia afflicted boy who Elyan saved from drowning during a flood when he was 3, leading to the man and his wife adopting him. Which granted him a big brother as well.

Clover only has flickers of memories from his past but none that really make sense in this time period. All of which are very traumatic. Because of this he does not talk much.

⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑⚔️👑

Mood boards for my Merlin story 'it's time, it's time, it's time' where the younger characters of Merlin get reincarnated and have a second shot at life. Minus Leon and Merlin who are immortal and have to find a way to prevent history from repeating itself.

Big thanks to @hufflepuffpirate20 , @gwaine-lover , @genderfunky-lesbian , @everything-but-the-not-natural , @witchmd13 , @sautedonions , and @purpleblobfrompluto for the help they gave back when this au started off (which was a lot). Tag list: @history-of-stories .

The Idea of George being an assassins was inspired by one story I can't find as well as the following ones below:

1 , 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6.

Here is a link to the story on ao3.

25 notes · View notes

crystallinearts · 6 months

Text

so hey guys, I'm doing NaNoWriMo this year! if you want, come be writing buddies with me! https://nanowrimo.org/participants/aj-strong

and check out my latest project, which I'm hoping will be my first published novel (if I'm able to publish it for people to read for free somewhere uwu), The Lovely Disaster Sideshow! It's a mystery, horror, adventure, historical, weird mishmash that takes place in a Victorian Era circus!

Here's the cover, and below the cut are some bullet-point details about the main characters!! Let me know what you think so far, and... well, get ready for me to do very little else throughout November XD

ABIGAIL HUGHES AND EULALIA "LALI" HUGHES

Mother and daughter protagonists

Abigail (late 20s) is missing a hand and Lali (6 years old) is unable to speak due to trauma (Abigail’s missing hand and Lali’s trauma are both from the accident which killed Abigail’s husband)

They fill the jobs of whatever needs done within the circus after joining; cooking, mending, running errands

Abigail occasionally performs with Bharata after he teaches her tricks on how to live without one hand

Lali enjoys working with Estelle and Cedar particularly, but the entire circus is protective of her as their youngest member

Native English

RINGMASTER

The circus ringleader, the master of ceremonies who runs shows and hires new workers

A friendly fellow (late 30s-early 40s) who welcomes anyone into the circus, regardless of disabilities or age, as long as they can work in some way or another

Creative in describing the sideshows to attract the attention of the public

In reality a cold, calculating bigot who is bitter toward, resentful of, and disgusted by the ‘freaks’ he employs in the circus

Native English

GWYNN

“The Eyeless Albino” visual oddity (pure white hair, no eyes)

A young man (early 20s) who is completely albino and was born without any eyes

He is entirely blind and relies on other people (most often Bharata and Siobhan) to help him around, though he’s learned to navigate most of the circus by sound as long as he has landmarks to go by; new areas confuse him until he learns the layout

His skin burns incredibly easily, meaning he often carries a parasol to block sun rays even when it’s cloudy

(His parasol also double functions as a makeshift cane) Welsh and a little English

SIOBHAN

“A Marvelous Mouth” sword swallower and fire breather

A young woman (early 30s) who is a former prostitute, leading the Ringmaster to capitalize on her relaxed gag reflex to make her into a sword swallower (and, occasionally when the shows need that extra oomph, fire breather)

Quite heavily tattooed, at least for the time period, she sports many tattoos on her arms, legs, back, and hands, as well as one on her neck; this causes many people to view her as a degenerate and adds to her ‘freakishness’ for the circus

Irish

CAIN AND ABEL

“Two-For-One Twins” visual oddity (conjoined twins)

Two young men (mid 20s) joined at the hip, they’re unable to be separated and sometimes have issues with moving around; they have separate bodies (two arms each, two legs each, separate torsos, separate heads, etc.) but their bodies are fused at the hip and doctors have all told them separation is too risky

They get along fairly well, with the occasional sibling fights, though they feel isolated even from the rest of the circus, stemming from only having had each other for most of their lives, especially given that they were the most recent additions before Abigail and Lali

Native English

ESTELLE

“Silent Angel” trapeze artist

A young woman (early 20s) who is almost entirely deaf and can only hear (barely) if someone is shouting right next to her ear, she cannot speak very well and prefers to communicate in other ways

She can’t read or write, but she’s made up her own variety of gestures (basically an individual sign language) to speak with the other circus performers, and she can read lips quite well

Short, petite, and kind… and will simply walk away from anyone who treats her or her friends cruelly

Spends hours teaching Lali her individual sign language, so that Lali can communicate even though she’s too traumatized to speak verbally

French and English

BHARATA

“One-Armed Wonder” knife thrower

A young man (late 20s) who has only one arm, and is perceived by many others as very clumsy; every household he’s worked for has set him up to fail by assigning him tasks that simply can’t be done with just one arm, leading him to find a belonging in the circus

Wanting to prove everyone wrong, he trained to do something that others thought couldn’t be done with only one arm: knife throwing… and is very good at it

He’s sympathetic toward Abigail and tries to teach her every single tip he has about how to live without one arm/hand

Indian

CEDAR

“Crystal Ball” fortune teller/palm reader/astrologist

A young nonbinary person (mid 20s) who was ostracized from society when they refused to answer to ‘she’, who ran away from home after their parents tried to beat them into conforming

No physical disability aside from dysphoria (which is obviously helped when they’re around supportive people who respect what they want to be called), and very supportive themself of the people in the circus who do have disabilities

Rather easygoing in terms of interacting with other people, they tend to simply go with the flow, but they’re also incredibly perceptive which is what makes them such a good fortune teller; while they do study palmistry, astrology, and tarot, they also employ the use of cold reading techniques (“might as well take advantage of all the gifts I have, including observation, right?”)

Native English

SALEM

“The Lizard Man” visual oddity (has X-linked ichthyosis resulting in scale-like skin)

A man (late 30s) who was cast out from society because of his strange appearance, stemming from his medical condition; people have been ‘terrified’ of his looks before, not to mention fearing that whatever he has is ‘contagious’ (despite him knowing from experience that he’s not)

Soft-spoken and gentle in general, but if one hits the right buttons he’s very capable of getting violent, particularly in defense of his friends

He has anywhere from 1-3 animals (that he’s nursing back to health) in his tent at any one time, even though he’s allergic to anything with fur… he has a soft spot for reptiles, though he adores all animals

Native English

#Bellum babbles #writers on Tumblr #NaNoWriMo 2023 #genuinely so excited!! <3

10 notes · View notes

shen-liqin · 1 year

Text

Random idea:

So like this is a weirdass crossover idea but I got bored and though of Shen Yuan transmigrating into Harry Potter instead of Shen Qingqiu and having a romance with Draco Malfoy-

Only reason why I thought of this was because I remembered Shen Yuan mentioning the Harry Potter series during his rant about why they were using carriages instead of swords for transportation.

And because aside from bingqiu and moshang, I’ve also been focusing on drarry for a bit at the moment.

One thing led to another and with the assistance of chatgpt and weird prompts that appeared in my head, I have about 8000 or 10000 words worth of self-indulgent Shen Yuan x Draco Malfoy content.

Cant think of a ship name for them yet but I’ve fallen in love with it lol. Someone help me.

Bonus Content:

At present, The System isn’t included in this self-indulgent AU of mine so Shen Yuan doesn’t have any OOC restrictions or missions to complete. Leaning towards doing the same of Shang Qinghua but that’s subject to change.

Shen Yuan transmigrates into an 11 year old Harry Potter and ends up ranting in Mandarin for 30 minutes while in the cupboard under the stairs.

Shen Yuan as Harry Potter ends up in either Ravenclaw or Slytherin (leaning towards Slytherin for plot reasons at the moment)

Shen Yuan teaches Draco how to speak Mandarin over the course of their years at Hogwarts.

Shang Qinghua also ends up in here but right now I’m torn on who he’s gunna end up in (leaning towards Seamus Finnigan who ends up in Slytherin in this AU).

Shen Yuan as Harry Potter in this AU is someone that everyone finds kind if weird but fun to be around. His dorm mates get used to him suddenly cursing out shitty romance novels he somehow finds (he has a dealer in Hogsmeade lol). This happens either in English, Mandarin, or both.

This AU is a crackfic (not sure if I wanna make it crack taken seriously or not not gunna lie).

25 notes · View notes

kallystah · 8 months

Text

| 13 | Mission : Baby

-Thank you, I am so grateful! Thanked their neighbor before leaving, leaving them both on their front doorstep, frightened.

The older one, still not realizing what she has just asked them, inflict on them, sets his violet eyes on what is nestling in the arms of his equally shocked brother. The one with glasses looks down at the sleeping toddler, mouth half open, pacifier ready to fall.

-Since when did we become the backup babysitter?

-We have sunk very low.

Starting to blame themselves for the situation, they whisper to prevent the young little girl from waking up. However, when Rindou looks back at the little girl, he can't help but look disgusted while his brother lets out a laugh, amused by the situation.

-She fucking drooled on me!

Faced with his exclamation, she wakes up crying, dropping her pacifier. Panicked, the braided person takes the child to calm him in his arms while his brother picks up the lollipop to give it back to him.

- Run it under water first, it's disgusting otherwise!

-All right, I'm going !

From then on, running in all directions frantically to respond to the little girl's slightest need and desire, they finished playing with her, her dolls and her cars. The unicorn headband and the princess headband decorating their face, they collapse on the sofa, exhausted when the one who dominates sleeps peacefully between the two of them. Starting to complain about the Legos on which he slipped several times, the two-tone grimaces as he speaks again.

-Don't you think it stinks Ran?

Turning around to exchange a look filled with apprehension, they finally set their gaze on the little girl's bottom, well filled.

-This little...

-Oh no...

-You take care of it.

-Eh ? The oldest is indignant.

-Don't do that, she's already vomited on me!

-Okay then go get me some gloves, a mask, and some disinfectant, head to the bathroom.

Executing more quickly than expected, here is the eldest trying to change the diaper of the youngest gesticulating everywhere, dressed in a blouse, gloves, a mask, his hair tied back. Meanwhile, the other of the brothers on the doorstep, his nose in his T-shirt, hands him the things he needs before returning to the corridor to get some fresh air.

-Rindou the diaper, go throw it away!

-Don't throw it at me like that! He grumbled, catching her as she was ready to land on his face. It stinks of death.

-You did worse when you were his age.

-But shut up!

-Go throw it in the trash at the bottom of the residence.

-But you can imagine seeing me with a diaper full of shit in my hands!

-Do you want it to stink up in the apartment?

-I'm going, don't kill her.

-I know what I'm doing ! He smiled before grimacing at the new diaper. How I put that ? You know, you little one?

Hearing her gurgling, he sighs before taking it in his hands to figure out how to put it on before his brother comes back.

-Of course you know and you won't tell me, you selfish thing. You dare to challenge us when you are two years old, you have a future in the underworld my little one... If you want I will teach you how to kill people.

Laughing, she extends her arms towards the one who has just changed her to hug him, happy to have spent this day with them.

-Don't worry, Rindou will also teach you his techniques. In a few years you will be the future queen of Roppongi!

~~~ chapter 13 -> end ~~~

Masterlist :

Next chapter :

#manga #tokyo rev headcanons #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers headcanons #haitani ran #haitani ran x reader #haitani ran imagines #haitani rindou imagines #haitani rindou #rindou x reader #ran x reader #tokyo revengers rindou #rindou headcanons #ran headcanons #behindthedoor

14 notes · View notes

teddysmusings · 1 month

Text

hello everyone! i'm linny (he/him, 26, est) and i'll be playing theodore here, as well as @kaialawson! i'm a little tardy to the party, but i'm here and i'm super excited to get to get to know everyone and their muses. underneath the cut you'll find all of teddy's background information, stats, and some connection ideas! if you're interested in plotting, just drop a like and i'll shoot you a message!

B A S I C S

full name: theodore song. nicknames: theo, teddy. gender: cis man. pronouns: he/him. sexuality: pansexual. age: 30 date of birth: october 3rd, 1993. zodiac sign: libra. birthplace: brooklyn, new york. current location: jongno, seoul, south korea. residence: share house in bukchon hanok village. occupation: free lance artist and physical trainer. languages spoken: english, korean.

A P P E A R A N C E

faceclaim: matthew kim (bm). height: 6’3. build: muscular and toned. eyes: brown. hair: naturally dark brunette. piercings: standard earlobe piercings. tattoos: none. other distinguishing features: n/a. style: casual and comfortable.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

traits: (+) creative, humorous, friendly, loyal , affectionate. (-) finicky, eccentric, too friendly, jealous, clingy. mental health: good standing. physical health: great physical shape. likes: art, museums, literature, parties, working out, traveling. dislikes: intolerant people, rude people, bullies, organized religion. fears: death. phobias: the dark. hobbies: sculpting, painting, drawing, photography, reading, hiking, working out. skills: cooking, art, tbd. quirks: rubbing the back of his neck, snorting when amused or annoyed, being handsy and touchy with his closest friends.

F A V O R I T E S

ice cream flavour: strawberry. time of the day / night: early morning. weather: fall weather. breakfast food: eggs, bacon, pancakes dinner food: pizza, anything with meat. colours: blue, purple, black. music: flo, ayra starr, iu, park hyoshin, beyonce, twice, jay-z, j. cole, doechii, ariana grande, harry styles, troye sivan.

M I S C E L A N E O U S

a cherished item: a photo of himself, his younger sibling and his parents. first love ( celeb crush ): iu / keke palmer / chad michael murray. usual mood: happy. 1 thing they want to do / experience before they die: have an art exhibit.

B I O

Growing up without parents is something that no one should have to suffer through, but unfortunately for Theodore, he had no choice. When he was eight years old, his parents were taken from him too soon, due to a drunk driving accident. He himself was in the car along with them, but fortunately he wasn’t harmed in the collision apart from a few scrapes and bruises here and there. Despite being so young when he lost his parents, he remembers them with crystal clear accuracy. He was very close to his parents, especially his mother. He was what people would normally call a mama’s boy.

Unlike a lot of boys who cling to their fathers while growing up, Teddy found himself clinging to his mother instead. He formed a special bond with her that people couldn’t really understand and after a while stopped trying to understand. He spent a lot of time with her during the first six years of his life. She was an art school teacher, and she would bring him along with her to work, which was the jumping off point for his love of art. Everything he knows about art today stems from watching her teach her classes, and while he couldn’t really comprehend everything she was saying back then, he was exposed to it quite early, which made it easier for him to adjust to art and all its forms when he started to really study it.

When he was just a few years old, his parents had another baby. He was excited to have a younger sibling, one that he could take care of and have a strong bond with. His little sibling had a love for art as well, and that was something they both bonded over. Even though they were both very young, it was very obvious that the both of them wanted to be artists in some way, shape or form. Their mother surrounded them with art and they both took to it like fish to water. His younger sibling was incredibly close to him, and he loved the bond that the two of them shared. Despite the difference in their ages, they were practically best friends who did everything together.

When their parents passed away, the two of them were forced to separate from one another. They weren’t given a choice in the matter because they were so young. Almost immediately his sibling was adopted and he was placed in foster care, something that he hated with every fiber of his being. The foster family he lived with drove him absolutely crazy. They were diehard Catholics and always tried to enforce their views and religious values onto him, which he had no choice but to accept when he was growing up. As he grew older, the more they tried to force religion onto him, the more he rejected it. By the time he was twelve or thirteen years of age, he had already come to the conclusion that he would not follow through with any religion once he came of age. The idea of organized religion had already been tainted for him, and he no longer wanted anything to do with it anymore. Despite his conclusion that he wouldn’t affiliate himself with any religions anymore, his foster parents forced him to attend bible study, Sunday school and even made him participate in the church’s art classes for children. Although that was something he didn’t really mind in the slightest. Being a part of the church’s art class had somewhat revitalized the love he had for art when he was a little kid, and he found himself looking forward for church every Sunday, because that meant he got to do what he loved.

As soon as he turned eighteen, Teddy set off on his search for his younger sibling, wanting to find them and reconnect with them. His foster parents hadn’t allowed him to do so while he was growing up, but now that he was legal and officially out from under their thumb, he knew there was nothing they could do to stop him from looking for his lost sibling. His search for his kin led him to South Korea, where his parents grew up. Upon finding his sibling and reconnecting with them, he also fell in love with the country. It was the exact change of scenery that he needed and had given him a new incentive to continue on with his art.

These days, Theodore works as a freelance artist and when he’s not making money doing commissions and projects for people here and there, he makes a living being a personal trainer. He hopes to someday kick off his career as a professional, full time artist, but until then, he’s happy having it as a side job and hobby.

C O N N E C T I O N S

his younger sibling: self explanatory, i'll probably send in a wc to the main for this one, but if you're interested and have a muse that fits or you want to bring in a muse in the future that might fit, just let me know!

ex ( multiple ): teddy is a lover through and through, so it's not surprising that he's had a few relationships here and there. some lasting longer than others.

fwb ( multiple ): a guy's got needs, and this person never fails to fulfill them whenever he calls on them and vice versa.

inspo: teddy's made art pieces about / for this person before.

best friend / platonic soulmate: the peanut butter to teddy's jelly. the patrick to teddy's spongebob. the milk to teddy's cereal.

bad influence: teddy, despite his appearance, is a lot sweeter and soft than he appears to be. this person is the one that talks him into tapping into his not so nice side. he's been taken advantage of for his kindness before, and this person is tired of seeing people use teddy like that.

tug-of-war: these two go back and forth. one minute they're going on outings and dates and are all cuddled up, then the next they're arguing and fussing. a hot and cold type of relationship that teddy can't seem to get out of. they care for each other, but whenever they try to be anything more than friends, it falls apart.

practically roommates ( multiple ): teddy has his own place and his own roommate, but these two are always hanging out at each other's places. teddy really enjoys their company and vice versa.

note: if you can't find anything to your liking here, we can always brainstorm!

#jongno:hello #( teddy intro. )

5 notes · View notes